


romeo and cinderella

by feralphoenix



Series: romeo and cinderella [1]
Category: Blaze Union
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Child Abuse, F/M, Families of Choice, M/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-27
Updated: 2011-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-20 19:17:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/pseuds/feralphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You ran away from the ball, but you don't have any place to run to. And suddenly the prince shows up. It's like a bad joke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. romeo and cinderella

**Author's Note:**

> _(inevitable flooding of one’s soul_ – I still hate the bitter things)

It could so easily have played out very differently.

Gulcasa was on the way back from the fancy dinner ball—he always felt a little awkward and out of place at them, but at least he’d been able to speak to a few people his own age in between the business associates and officials. He’d had quite a nice talk with a friendly blond girl over the punch, and received her assurance that she attended many such occasions—a quiet acknowledgement that if he wanted to be friends or perhaps something more, they would be able to meet and talk again when the next show of wealth began.

The dinner ball had been an outdoor affair on the grounds of some millionaire’s estates, given a fairytale theme. It had had ambiance, but it had lasted far too long—according to the clock on Gulcasa’s dashboard, it was eleven forty-seven at night, and he still had about forty minutes’ worth of driving to do in a stuffy tuxedo that hadn’t been out of storage for a month and wasn’t in the least comfortable. The braid he’d forced his hair into to tame it was starting to hurt his scalp, too. Of course, since he was driving, all Gulcasa could really do about it was pull the tie off; he’d have to endure this until he got home.

Because of the late hour, Gulcasa kept his car on the highway until the turn that led to the suspension bridge. It made him nervous on dark nights because the nights were cold and the road a little slippery; he really did need to get home soon tonight, though, and this way was faster. The roads were empty, so he could afford to drive more slowly, too.

He must have been about two thirds of the way across the bridge by then—he just happened to be glancing to the right in time to see the figure standing on the waist-high wall that protected pedestrians from the sheer drop.

At first Gulcasa’s eyes passed over that figure as though it were normal. Then, once he’d almost passed by, he whipped back around for another look and slammed his foot on the brakes.

Once he’d thrown the car into park, Gulcasa fumbled with the seat belt and struggled awkwardly out the door, not even bothering to shut it. He ran full tilt towards whoever was standing on the edge, hardly noticing when the wind tore his hair free of the braid and tossed it behind him.

The figure was a young—woman, probably?—who seemed rather shorter than Gulcasa, with pale skin and short blond hair. She was clad in a sleeveless off-white party dress with black ruffles at the hem, waistline, and shoulders, with a matching black ribbon arranged like a flower at the left side of her head. However, the garment was tugged askew and looked grass-stained in places, and there were clearly heavy bruises along her arms and legs. She was not wearing shoes, but a pair of strappy sandals were cast off on the sidewalk behind and below her.

Seeing that put nervous knots in Gulcasa’s stomach, and he slowed his pace as he realized that he really didn’t know what the hell he should do about this. Aside from the fact that he couldn’t stand and do _nothing—_ this person clearly intended to jump, and if the fall didn’t kill her, she’d drown in that dress. He couldn’t let that happen—he might not know why she wanted to kill herself, but—

“Stay away from me.”

The words of warning were harsh, twisted with tears, and spoken in an unmistakably deep voice. _So it’s a he,_ some part of Gulcasa’s brain registered, but he didn’t have time to be worrying about this suicide jumper’s gender right now. He continued forward in ever slower steps, holding out one hand as though asking this stranger to take it.

“Come on, come down here. You don’t have to do this.”

Gulcasa’s answer was a short laugh.

“It’s all right. You can get down safely, and we can call someone to help you get home.”

“I’m never going back there,” the jumper spat, turning to glare at Gulcasa. The gesture revealed that his face was badly bruised, covered in red and purple marks and smudges of clotted blood. Gulcasa shivered slightly—what was this? Abuse? An assault? A simple runaway who’d gotten hurt somehow?

“Then at least let me take you to the hospital,” Gulcasa reasoned slowly. “Those injuries need to get looked at. Did someone do this to you? Shouldn’t you try to talk to the police, instead of doing this?”

“Shut up. Go away. It’s not as if you care.”

“If I didn’t care I wouldn’t have stopped.”

“No one else did, for hours. And there were plenty of people who passed by.”

 _“I_ stopped,” Gulcasa asserted. “And—you don’t really want to jump.”

This was enough provocation for the jumper to turn halfway around, glowering at Gulcasa through tear-filled, bloodshot eyes. Despite the bruising that forced the jumper’s left eye partway closed, Gulcasa could tell that he had heterochromia—it was green, while his right eye was blue. He cut a pitiful figure, covered in bruises and blood even as he bristled like an angry cat.

 _“Don’t_ tell me what I want to do and what I don’t—”

“I’m not telling you—it just seems kind of obvious,” Gulcasa reasoned calmly. “You were here for hours, you said. If you wanted to jump, you already would have.” In other words, he’d been waiting to see if anyone would care enough to try to stop him. Gulcasa felt cold at the thought of what might have happened if he hadn’t noticed.

The would-be jumper flushed and wrapped thin arms around himself, turning away. “…I just…”

Gulcasa held out his hand insistently. “Come on, let me help you here. Even at this time of night, we could get the police out here if you need them, and the hospitals are still open. Those look like they hurt.”

“If you try to call them I _will_ jump. They’re never any help.”

 _Never,_ Gulcasa registered grimly, _does this mean he’s tried to go to them about… whatever this is before?_

“Is there _anyone_ I can call for you?” Gulcasa asked after a short pause.

“I don’t have anyone.”

“You came from somewhere.”

“I’m not going back there.” The jumper curled closer into himself, tucking his chin to his chest so that his hair fell into his face, half-obscuring his bruises. A gust picked up the skirts of his dress and ruffled Gulcasa’s hair; shoving it out of his face, Gulcasa was able to see that the cuts and bruises went up to, and probably past, the young man’s knees.

These injuries were way too extensive to have been caused by some kind of accident, unless he’d gotten hit by a car. Someone had beaten him pretty badly, probably earlier today. Gulcasa wondered why—perhaps it was about the dress, although there were enough people like that around here that hate crimes were few and far between. Or maybe there was some other reason.

“Should I—call social services?” Gulcasa asked in a low voice.

This elicited a _laugh,_ of all things. “At my age? They wouldn’t bother.”

…All right, this was starting to make Gulcasa feel sick. He wasn’t surprised that this guy felt so cornered, but—“Just give me your hand and come down here, and we’ll think of something,” he said quietly.

The jumper stared at him through his bangs and his bruises. “Why should I trust you?” he deadpanned.

Gulcasa scowled, annoyed. “If I’d wanted something like that, I could’ve gotten it where I just came from. There more than were enough silly drunk young women and men around for an orgy, if I’d wanted one. And as it happens, my taste runs towards people who aren’t so black and blue you can barely see their eyes.”

There wasn’t any reply to that.

“Come on, just get down off of there,” Gulcasa cajoled. “We can talk about your options once I’m sure your legs won’t give out or something and _make_ you fall. Please. I don’t want to see you throw your life away.”

Gulcasa felt something cold and wet hit his forehead, and looked up. Although he could still see the moon, there was a thin veil of cloud drifting over the sky, and the faint pattering told him it was starting to rain.

“Come on,” he repeated again, still holding out his hand. “You’ll freeze in that thing. I don’t want you getting pneumonia, either.”

The would-be jumper turned to face Gulcasa fully, now looking forlorn instead of confrontational—and hesitantly, he lifted his hand as if to reach out.

“It’s going to be all right,” Gulcasa said firmly.

The rain was falling steadily now, and the fabric of Gulcasa’s tuxedo jacket was starting to feel heavier on his shoulders. His hair definitely was, too. If they stood here for too much longer they’d get soaked, but the young man facing him seemed frozen in place.

Gulcasa waited.

At last, that pale hand reached forward, lightly touching Gulcasa’s just as its owner wobbled where he stood. His heart giving a heavy lurch, Gulcasa grasped the hand tightly and pulled, yanking the blond towards him so that he fell against Gulcasa’s chest with a soft gasp. He’d startled him, but—better that than letting him fall the other way.

“Are you all right? I didn’t pull too hard, did I?”

There wasn’t any answer; the would-have-been jumper just stayed slumped against him, perhaps trying to regain his sense of balance. Gulcasa eased him carefully back, and then shrugged out of his tuxedo coat, placing it around those thin shoulders. Whatever it was made out of, that dress seemed worryingly thin, and he really _would_ get pneumonia if he stood out here getting drenched for too long.

Although the would-have-been jumper still said nothing, his small hands clutched at the lapels of the jacket, pulling it closer around him. Gulcasa rested a hand lightly on his shoulder.

“Don’t forget your shoes.”

“…I don’t care about them.”

“I don’t want you hurting your feet, though. The asphalt’s pretty rough over here, and we still don’t know where we’re taking you.”

“No hospital. No police station.” He sounded dead; the words were exhausted.

Gulcasa shook his head and went to pick up the discarded pair of sandals, then returned to their owner. The young man was still standing in the same pose, head down, clutching Gulcasa’s coat around himself, as if he didn’t care that he was getting soaked.

“We should head to the car or we’re going to get drowned,” Gulcasa stated flatly. The rain was starting to pick up, its patter increasing to a steady rattling sound. “We can talk about where we’re going then, come on.”

He tugged lightly at the would-be-jumper’s shoulder, leading him to the car. Gulcasa’s seat wasn’t wet, thankfully, but the inside of the door was soaked. He’d have to wipe it down when they got back, or it’d get nasty dust streaks all over it. What a pain.

While his companion stood staring blankly, Gulcasa unlocked the other car doors, and pulled open one of the back ones. “I think I’ve got towels back there. Wrap up when you get in, and don’t forget your seatbelt. That’d be a hell of a thing to get screwed for now.”

With only another hesitation as indication that he might not be comfortable with this, the young man clambered awkwardly into the car. Gulcasa shut the door behind him, then took the driver’s seat and shut his own door, pushing his wet hair out of his face.

“Is there anywhere you want to go, or anything you want to do?”

There was a soft sneeze and cough from the back seat. Gulcasa looked in the rearview mirror to see his passenger shaking his head.

“Hungry? Thirsty? Need to stop at a bathroom somewhere?”

Another shake of the head, and then another sneeze.

“I guess we just have to get you warmed up. You’re going to get a cold at this rate. And… damn, I think we’re out of coffee.” Gulcasa made a face, then pushed his hair back and chewed the edge of his lip. “…Well, there’s a café close to where I live that we could go to. The barista who’s got the graveyard shift is an old friend, and she knows me well enough not to freak and call the cops when she sees the state you’re in. You like coffee?”

A shrug.

“Well, as long as you don’t hate it. We’re in for a bit of a ride though. After we get you fed and watered, I guess I’ll be taking you to my place. I’ve got first aid stuff there, so we can patch you up and then get you to bed. …My sisters are sharing the guest room, but I can put you up with me or I’ll take the couch or something. You need the mattress more right now.”

No response.

“Any problems with the plan?”

“…no.”

“That’s great, ‘cause I can’t think of anything else to do with you. I’m Gulcasa, by the way,” he added as an afterthought. “If you change your mind about the hospital, let me know.”

“I won’t.”

“If you say so. We’ll have to talk about it again tomorrow, once we see how you’re doing. That shiner’s probably gonna be a pretty sunrise by then—you might not like it.” Gulcasa turned the key, but didn’t shift into drive; he considered his options and turned the heat on along with the windshield wipers. It didn’t bother him too much, but he could see in the rearview mirror that his stray friend was shivering now. And his comfort was most important here. “We’ve got a ride of about thirty or forty minutes, so if you want to go to sleep you can. If you’re still out by the time we get there, I’ll just take you to the house. That all right?”

“….I suppose.”

“Seriously, if you have a problem with anything, tell me.” Gulcasa glanced over his shoulder, then put his hand on the stick shift.

“…Nessiah.”

“What?”

“My name.” There was a shift of cloth; Gulcasa looked back to see that his passenger was curled up on the seat, cocooned in the wet jacket and two towels, the seatbelt pulled down at an odd angle so that it still wrapped under his body. “It’s Nessiah.”

Gulcasa considered it, and nodded. “Well, it’s certainly been an interesting meeting, Nessiah. I’m gonna do my best to take care of you.”

When there wasn’t any answer, Gulcasa settled his foot on the pedal and shifted the car into drive.


	2. chainboy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _(what if the storm ends_ – magic, please stop time)

Nessiah woke warm under soft sheets, his body aching. The latter wasn’t particularly unusual, but the former _definitely_ was. He knew better than to jump up and try to investigate his situation, though—he’d make whatever injuries he’d sustained much worse.

And as he lay there, gingerly flexing and moving his limbs to test how mobile they actually were, the memories of the past night began to return.

…He’d run away. At long last. He’d found an opening and escaped through it, but… he’d had nowhere to go, so he’d wound up at the bridge. Waiting for something—anything—to happen. And just when he’d given up and was steeling himself to jump…

A kind face appeared in his mind, out of his memories. He’d called himself Gulcasa, and had been wearing a tuxedo that just didn’t fit with his long, wild hair or his blunt words. Nessiah hadn’t known what to do, had decided that no matter what, he was so exhausted and hopeless already that he wouldn’t care even if something bad happened, and had let Gulcasa take him home like a stray cat. Gotten into the car of a complete stranger and offered himself up to fate, broken the cardinal rule ingrained in every person since toddlerhood.

Desperately.

Stupidly.

Nessiah tried to lever himself up on his right elbow, winced, and rolled onto his left side. He would have tried his left arm, but he found that it was hard to fold his arm into a right angle—it was constricted with soft, flossy bandages wrapped and pinned together.

“…”

He remembered now, but the memories were indistinct and incredibly hazy: Once he was in the car, the exhaustion had probably taken over, because he remembered the steady purr of the engine and the rattle of rain on the roof, but no stop for coffee (as Gulcasa had promised him, should he stay awake). He _did_ remember stumbling through a half-lit house, being brought to the bathroom, and now that his wounds had been dressed.

…Nessiah felt blood rise to his cheeks as he remembered the worried look on Gulcasa’s face when he’d asked that Nessiah take his clothes off, as if the other man was afraid of what he would see or how Nessiah himself would react. He’d been so tired, he’d barely cared, and had stripped to the waist, sitting on the counter next to the bathroom’s sink while his wounds had been cleaned of clotted blood, daubed with disinfectant cream, and covered in gauze and bandages. He didn’t really remember whether or not he’d gotten fully naked. As he shifted again, Nessiah supposed that he must have at one point—he felt sheets and cotton against his hips, but no chiffon. Obviously he’d changed out of his party clothes.

Which was good; surely no one wanted blood and dirt staining their sheets, and the sheets of the bed he was in were soft and well-made. Warm, comforting bedclothes were the best kind; Nessiah could almost have stayed cradled in their dark and fragrant womb forever. Even their smell was comforting—a combination of the mixed pine and bonfire scent of late nights in autumn and basic fabric softener. Spartan and masculine, but cared-for. It suited the impression Nessiah had received of his benefactor last night.

Now that he’d been awake this long, though, he couldn’t go back to sleep. His face was starting to ache with a sharp, throbbing kind of pain that was all too familiar; he needed to splash some water onto it to ease it for a while. And he should investigate his situation more, anyhow.

Carefully, carefully, Nessiah inched himself up against the pillows and the wall behind the bed’s head, trying not to put too much weight on his right arm—his shoulder would start to hurt even worse if he did. Eventually, after about a minute or so, he was able to lever himself into a sitting position and glance around the room.

There wasn’t much in the way of decoration, but the furnishings were of high quality from what Nessiah could tell. There were clothes half-hanging off the edge of the wicker hamper in the corner, but the rest of the room lacked that stereotypical male messiness.

He would have tried to appraise what kind of wood the dark, polished chest of drawers was, but a sound to his bad right side distracted him. Nervously, he turned—and saw one of those modern-art chairs that mimicked a nest, he could never remember what they were called. Its cushion was deep burgundy in color, the framework that supported it nearly black; Gulcasa was curled up in it with a blanket thrown over him, asleep. He didn’t look very comfortable, and no wonder; it was rather ill-sized for his frame.

Nessiah sat staring, at a loss, for several minutes, then decided that he might as well explore a little if Gulcasa was asleep anyway. In inching movements, he awkwardly scooted over to the edge of the bed and slid off, testing his legs by putting weight onto his feet slowly. His knees shook a little at first, but they didn’t buckle. As he took a step forward, the fabric bunched around his waist dropped to cover his hips, and looking down at himself, Nessiah found that he was wearing a button-down shirt at least three sizes too large for him; the sleeves were folded up past his elbows. It could only belong to Gulcasa.

 _So people like this really do exist…_

Moving carefully, nearly limping, Nessiah made his way to the door, pulled it open, and then brought it closed behind him. It squeaked a bit, but not loudly.

He was on the second level of a house—he could see the top of the stairs down the hall from him. There were several other closed doors, but only one that was open; this was the bathroom he’d been in last night. Nessiah walked over to it and flipped the light switch, then stepped onto the rug in front of the sink and turned the faucet on.

As the water ran, he looked at himself in the mirror; just as Gulcasa had predicted, the bruise over his left cheek and eye was now a colorful mess like something a kindergartener might do with all the crayons in a deluxe box. Nessiah grimaced, dipped his fingertips in the running water—not too cold, but not hot either—and lightly brushed water over the bruise. He had to bite his lip—even that light touch hurt—but as he moved his hand away from his face, the light chill of the water was already starting to give him some relief from the pain.

There was a cup, but Nessiah didn’t know if he should use it; instead, he cupped his hands under the water and leaned over to drink from them before it drained away. He didn’t think he’d drank much of anything last night, so he was _thirsty;_ it also meant that the sink was all he needed for now. He’d have to ask if he could take a shower after he’d found something to eat, if Gulcasa would let him stay long enough.

…That was a worrying thought, and Nessiah didn’t want to pursue it. He might not have any idea what was in store for him beyond each obvious next step, but he didn’t want to think about what he would do once Gulcasa decided it was time for him to leave.

Turning off the faucet, he cautiously made his way towards the stairs. It hurt his hips a bit to maneuver down them, but the more he moved the less stiff he felt.

After a brief moment of confusion, Nessiah was able to vaguely recall the way into the kitchen, and followed it. There were other doors to be explored later, but for now what he wanted to investigate most was the pantry. Perhaps there would be something small he could take out, or something simple he could make for himself; he would apologize for using the facilities without permission when Gulcasa came down.

There were two full floor-to-ceiling pantry cabinets, and the refrigerator was also quite nice from what Nessiah could tell; when he peeked into the other cabinets above the kitchen counter, rising up on tiptoe so that he could reach, most of the dishes seemed to be pristine, if not fine porcelain of some type. Easing the cabinets closed, Nessiah rocked back on his heels and bit his lip (he couldn’t raise his left hand to bite his nails). He should have figured from the quality of the furniture in the bedroom, but Gulcasa seemed to be _rich._ Even just for the night and morning, Nessiah’s staying here would probably be perceived by anyone else as his taking advantage.

…It couldn’t be helped. He’d be leaving soon enough.

Trudging footsteps the way Nessiah had come twisted at his chest, and he turned, trying to prepare entreaties and excuses and apologies for Gulcasa—but the new arrival in the kitchen wasn’t him. It was a blond, blue-eyed woman about half a head taller than Nessiah, probably around his age, in plain blue pajamas. She made her sleepy way towards him, then stopped and frowned at him—he could almost _see_ the gears slowly starting to creak into motion as she began to appear more and more awake—and he couldn’t help but edge back slightly as her eyes narrowed and she scowled.

“And _who the hell_ would you be?” she asked sharply. Nessiah faltered, cringing back again.

“His name’s Nessiah, and he’s staying with us for a while,” a familiar voice beside him announced; Nessiah gasped and whirled around— _how_ had Gulcasa snuck up behind him and gotten onto his bad side like that, he hadn’t heard a _thing_ —only to have Gulcasa’s warm hands settle on his shoulders. “That’s Luciana, one of my sisters. Seems she’s taken a liking to you. Now, turn around and let me see your face, all right?”

Nessiah, not knowing what to do, simply obeyed; Gulcasa softly pushed his hair back and tipped his chin up with his other hand, apparently scrutinizing the bruises on the left side of Nessiah’s face while trying not to touch them.

“At least the swelling seems to have gone down—we’re going to need to get some ice for this, though. Have you eaten anything yet? We’ve got a lot of food, and anything I can’t cook, my sisters can. Just relax. You’re safe in this house, you hear?”

Nessiah didn’t know what to say. Gulcasa seemed completely calm and nonchalant—so much so that Nessiah could barely believe that he’d just gotten up.

“Gulcasa, what have I told you about bringing strange people into the house?” the girl—Luciana?—grated; Nessiah imagined she must be seething quite furiously. “You know how we feel about you hauling your, your one-night stands back here to play—”

Gulcasa stood up straight and let Nessiah’s hair fall, getting that flatly stubborn look on his face that Nessiah remembered from the past night. “For God’s sake, Luciana. Is that what this looks like to you? You’re an idiot. Shut up and eat your breakfast, leave us alone.”

Luciana did not shut up. “If that’s not it, then what? Some clandestine lover? Another _friend from work?_ I told you after you brought Leon here that we wouldn’t stand for anything else of that sort, paying for the repairs could have cut into Emilia’s college funds if you hadn’t—”

 _“Neither_ is this me bringing my friend home when he’s piss-faced and lost his keys,” Gulcasa interjected, raising his voice to cut her off. “And yes, that was stupid and cost a lot, but what the hell was I supposed to do? Leave him in the back of an alley to break prospective muggers’ arms? He didn’t need the lawsuit, and it was the goddamn anniversary of the day his parents died. Goddammit, if you can’t cut the man a break just _that one day_ in the entire year…” This sounded like a familiar argument to Nessiah; Gulcasa confirmed his suspicions by actually shaking his head. “Anyway, this isn’t anything like that. Nessiah’s staying here because he doesn’t have anywhere else to go; he hasn’t shown any destructive tendencies thus far. He’s wearing my shirt because his clothes are half-ruined. What’s the general washing care for silk and chiffon, anyhow?”

“General washing… what does _that_ have to do with anything?” And then: _“…Tell me_ you didn’t pick him up as some kind of homeless stray.”

“You haven’t said what you want to eat yet,” Gulcasa said calmly, rolling his shoulders in a shrug and stepping to open the refrigerator as he shifted his attention back to Nessiah. “Don’t mind my sister—she thinks me too helpless to defend myself against anything in the world, and too soft to do anything but accept every deception shoved in front of me. She’ll come to realize that you’re not a robber or a con artist eventually.”

From behind him, Nessiah heard an angry huff, then angrier stomps. He turned hesitantly, but all he saw was a whirl of gold hair disappearing around the corner.

“If you’re going to go sulk, at least wake Aegina and Emilia up,” Gulcasa called after her. “I was going to tell you what was going on anyway, but if you’re going to carry on about it, I’d rather get it over with sooner.”

“…”

There was no response from Luciana, and Nessiah couldn’t fill the awkward silence that remained in her wake. He clasped at his hands, or made an effort at it, as he watched Gulcasa searching through the food, letting all the cold air out of the refrigerator. Nessiah almost wanted to scold that it would make the dairy and the fruit spoil—the instinct surprised him, and he stifled it.

“You _still_ aren’t telling me what you want to eat. Are you allergic to anything, at least?”

“…no. I…” Nessiah looked at the floor. It was tile—he hadn’t realized because it wasn’t cold under his feet. For _tile_ not to be cold in the morning, Gulcasa had to be spending a fortune to heat this house. And yet his demeanor, his behavior, the old jeans and older-looking shirt he was clad in now—it all seemed at odds with the easily apparent wealth the house showcased. Nessiah bit his lip and heaved a very small sigh. “…I’ll leave once my clothes are clean, you don’t have to worry, I can wash them myself if you’ll show me where I can—”

“Leave and go _where,_ exactly?”

Nessiah looked back up. Gulcasa was staring at him now, arms crossed, an impassive expression on his face as he propped the refrigerator door open with his hip. (Nessiah itched to chastise him for it, but he bit back that urge a second time.) Uncomfortable with being stared at so, he fidgeted, and turned partially away so that he could still look at Gulcasa out of the corner of his left eye. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but the way Gulcasa was looking at him made him nervous.

“It’s getting colder outside, and it’s going to rain all this week,” Gulcasa said calmly, plainly, worried lines appearing on his forehead. At least, what parts of his forehead Nessiah could see through his hair. “If I put you outside in that flimsy little dress you’d get hypothermia and die. And you don’t have anywhere to go aside from back where you came from, right? The streets would be hard on a prickly little thing like you—I can’t see you making a good beggar, and even if you didn’t decide to sell yourself, there are a _lot_ of sick people out there that go for the scared-kitten look.”

Nessiah shivered at the picture Gulcasa was painting for him. It was as much a nightmare as where he’d come from.

“You still won’t let me take you to the hospital or call the police?” Gulcasa asked gently. “This country has laws against domestic violence, and it’s pretty clear that there’s some kind of abuse involved here. I may not know what’s going on, but…”

“No.” The word came out more as a plea than as an order.

“…No good, huh? It’s true that if the hospital sees the state you’re in, they’ll call the cops—and you really don’t seem to want the law in on this. Are you underage? Will they just try to put you back where you came from? Or is there some other reason they won’t help you?”

…Nessiah couldn’t speak; his throat had closed over.

“Whatever the case—if the law won’t protect you, I will.” There was determination in Gulcasa’s voice, but the way he smiled at Nessiah made him think inexplicably of a parent. “I have the money, and the influence, to keep you safe as long as you’re with me. I’ll take care of you. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

And he held out his arms; Nessiah wondered if they had some kind of gravitational pull to them, because he found himself held carefully to Gulcasa’s chest in the next moment—and he’d certainly been the one to move. Gulcasa supported him very softly, another gesture at odds with his appearance, probably knowing that if he held Nessiah tightly he’d only cause pain by doing so.

“You’re an idiot,” Nessiah said into Gulcasa’s shirtfront, and then he could hold it back no longer: “…close the door. The food will spoil.”

Gulcasa _laughed._ “…Well, I suppose you’re right.” He let go, easing Nessiah back as gently and carefully as anything, and turned to pull a plastic milk jug and an egg carton out, placing them on the counter. “How about this? I’ll make you scrambled eggs—that should hold you for a while—and then we’ll see about a warm shower, and after that some hot milk to help you settle down and sleep. I’m going to have a big, annoying argument with my sisters about keeping you here after that, and while I’ll be able to make Aegina and Emilia see sense quickly enough, Luciana will carry on for a long time. It’ll bore you silly, and it’d be better if you slept through it. You probably need your rest, anyway.

“How does that sound?”

“…okay.”

 

-           -           -

 

Because there had been a great deal of protesting when Gulcasa had announced his intention to have Nessiah sleep in his room again, he was now curled up on the plush sofa, warm and covered in blankets. The dressings for his wounds had been changed, his hair was washed and dry, he’d been fed, and his body’s various aches were dying down.

Although he’d scoffed at Gulcasa’s fervent belief in the power of warm milk as a sleep aid, Nessiah had to admit how wrong he’d been. He could barely keep his eyes open, and doubted he’d be able to stay awake for much longer. It overwhelmed him—and scared him a little—how very safe he felt here; it was as if he would wake up tomorrow and this would be a dream, and he would be in the dark again.

All he could do was pray that this was real.

As he closed his eyes, snatches of conversation drifted in from the kitchen, where Gulcasa and his sisters were holding their debate.

“—beaten half to death, jumping at shadows, and if he isn’t completely blind in his right eye he’s pretty close. I had to spend a long time trying to get him to not jump off that bridge. No one with half a working sense of justice could kick him out now, and I’m sure he’s not trying to play me. He half-expected me to kill him or rape him when we got back here. And he wasn’t even afraid—he told me to _get it over with_. God. Whatever he’s been through, I’m not sending him back where he came from to get more of it.”

“He’s not a _stray animal,_ Gulcasa, he’s a person. You can’t just pick people up off the streets—”

Nessiah settled himself deeper into the cushions, curling up a little more tightly. The last thing he heard before his consciousness left him entirely was Gulcasa’s voice.

“I know you’re just worried about me, but I can take care of myself. I have before, and I’m still providing for you lot. I’m going to protect him. I don’t care if it’s dangerous or if it’s difficult, or that most people wouldn’t—it’s not right to see somebody in that state and pass them by.

“…I’m going to take care of him.”


	3. solitary confinement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _(this broken world we choose_ – don’t you want to look into my heart?)

One day while they were all on coffee break, Gulcasa quietly got out a notebook and went to sit with Russell’s wife.

It wouldn’t have been remarkable except that the discussion was intense, to the point, and accompanied by Gulcasa’s meticulously jotting things down every few minutes. Flone herself seemed rather baffled by it, but Gulcasa didn’t give her much of a chance to ask. Although everyone continued to glance back at them curiously, nothing about the situation really changed; when the break was almost over, Gulcasa nodded to her as if thanking her, stood up, and walked off with his free hand in his pocket.

When Flone rejoined them, Russell was the one who asked. “What did he _want?”_

“He was asking questions about basic nursing care,” Flone replied, sounding as bewildered as the rest of them. No one had a chance to ask that day, though—Gulcasa left work quickly, and it was only the next day that they discovered he was taking a few months off. A luxury only someone in his position could afford. Baldus would be in charge of things, for the most part, until he came back. And they shouldn’t visit for a while, until he had things sorted out better.

“…What’s he gotten himself into now?”

 

-           -           -

 

The first couple of days were the easiest, surprisingly.

Maybe not so surprisingly—Nessiah spent most of them asleep. Gulcasa checked the notes Flone had given him over and over, and kept his charge bundled up and off his feet as much as possible. It wasn’t hard. Whatever Nessiah had been through had worn him to the bone, and running out from wherever he’d come from to the suspension bridge probably hadn’t helped. He was weak, sick, and hurt; Gulcasa had looked after weak, sick, and hurt things before, but none of them had been as badly off and none had been as frail as Nessiah, either.

Luciana kept glowering whenever they were anywhere near the living room (Nessiah spent most of his time buried in blankets there, curled up and asleep), but she didn’t seem to want to be the one to wake the patient and get yelled at. Aegina spent the first day or so staring, then proceeded to gracefully act as though Nessiah didn’t even exist. Emilia always looked at him curiously, but at least Nessiah was never awake to see her eyeballing him.

Emilia was the only one to really ask how he was doing. Gulcasa always answered her, and was grateful that at least one of his sisters was accepting of having a new housemate here.

The few hours that Nessiah was actually awake, Gulcasa always made him eat (or tried to—Nessiah wasn’t exactly finicky, but he never seemed to have much appetite and ate extremely slowly, picking at his food. Gulcasa had always asked if there was something specific Nessiah wanted, but his foundling always demurred and protested that he didn’t want Gulcasa pushing himself), then checked his injuries. Nessiah’s scratches and bruises were beginning to fade, though his face was still very colorful. The swelling and tenderness in his arms didn’t seem to be going anywhere yet, though. It was really worrying—if this was something serious, he wasn’t sure he could actually treat it properly.

The fact that Nessiah didn’t seem to consider it anything out of the ordinary was worrying on a deeper level, but there wasn’t anything Gulcasa could do about that now. Whatever had happened to Nessiah in the past, it was done with; there wasn’t anything anyone could do to change it.

From here on out, Gulcasa just had to make sure that Nessiah was cared for properly.

Anyhow, the first few days were the easiest. With Nessiah awake, things grew a bit more complex.

Maybe it was just that he’d spent so much time there, but Nessiah seemed really reluctant to move too far away from the living room for very long. The same way he had on the first day, he tended to be badly startled if anyone approached him and he couldn’t see it coming long before, and the way he cringed away from any form of negativity made Gulcasa feel like he was walking a minefield just trying to talk to him. A single suspicious glower from Luciana had him shrinking back, and Emilia’s curiosity didn’t seem to be any easier for him to bear.

Still, Gulcasa forced himself to remain patient. After a while—and it would take a while, but—one of these days, Nessiah would start to consciously realize that he wasn’t going to be harmed here.

Two weeks passed in a kind of extreme awkwardness that would have been funny if not for the serious nature of Nessiah’s condition, and Gulcasa found himself adapting to Nessiah’s nature more than waiting for Nessiah to settle into the house.

It was gray and rainy that Monday morning, and the sun didn’t want to come out. Luciana and Aegina both ate early and went to work; Emilia had the day off from school and probably wouldn’t wake up until much later. Nessiah was asleep on the couch. Rather than moving to wake him—he’d probably scare Nessiah half to death if he tried—Gulcasa sat next to the massive pile of blankets his adoptee was buried under, opened a book, and caught up on his reading.

Maybe forty minutes after he did, there were shifts of fabric that almost drowned out the soft murmurs of protest that were uttered simultaneously to them. Gulcasa flipped pages, realized that the end of the chapter was too far away, and dogeared the page of the next scene break, then finished reading until there and closed his book. Placing it on the sofa’s armrest, he looked over to see that Nessiah had sat up and was glancing around the room with a dazed expression.

“Morning.”

“…mm.”

“Shower first or breakfast first?”

Nessiah shrugged.

“Shower first, I guess. Maybe you’ll have some appetite when you’re through.”

Nessiah shrugged again, raised one arm to rub distractedly at his eyes, and then pointed at Gulcasa’s book. “You just want to finish that.”

“Not really, though that is a bonus to the shower-first plan. Any problems?”

His foundling covered a yawn and shook his head.

“Alright, let’s go. And think about what you want while you’re in there.” Damn it, if Nessiah wasn’t such a picky eater, Gulcasa was _sure_ he’d have some flesh on that rail-thin body by now. The kid was as desperately skinny as he’d been the night Gulcasa had brought him home, but that was _not_ for lack of trying.

Absently, Nessiah nodded, and navigated his way out of the pile of blankets obediently, standing up.

“…Uh, better pull that sweater down before we get too far.”

Nessiah blinked, then looked down at himself as Gulcasa made a face. The sweater he was using as a sleepshirt—one of Gulcasa’s old ones, of course—had ridden up to his waist and gotten tangled. And he wasn’t wearing anything beneath it.

…If it had just been the two of them in the house, Gulcasa would only have had to worry about Nessiah getting cold running around like that—hell, they were both guys, it wasn’t like he’d never seen any of that before—but if Emilia decided to get up early, they had a problem.

(Okay, so his sister was old enough to’ve seen diagrams in health class, and the two of them had taken baths together plenty of times seeing as they were family, but even if Emilia wound up nonchalant about it— _especially_ if it didn’t bother her, god forbid— _Gulcasa_ wasn’t ready for her to see non-blood-related manly bits quite yet.)

Nessiah tilted his head to the side like a cat and sleepily pulled the sweater down, giving it a few pats to straighten it out. And yawned again, wobbling slightly and veering back against the sofa. “There’s not even much to look at,” he pointed out with every pretense of being reasonable.

“…Are you even awake yet? C’mon. Get in the shower, you.” _And you seriously need some clothes of your own. This is only going to be a problem for as long as you keep going around in my spares._ Shirts weren’t a problem, but all of Gulcasa’s old pairs of jeans and such were far too big for Nessiah to fit into. Even the twins’ clothes would probably be too big, and Emilia’s were too _small._

With another shrug, Nessiah padded towards the stairs obediently. …He probably wasn’t fully awake yet, come to think of it. Usually Nessiah was more conscious of those kinds of things.

Gulcasa shook his head, picked up his book, and followed Nessiah up the stairs. By the time he reached the top, the bathroom door was closed, and he could hear the steady stream of water.

Seeing as Nessiah had only needed help bathing those first few days, Gulcasa sat against the wall and returned to his novel without worrying. He’d read this one before, but not for a while, so while he remembered the basic plot, the details were hazy. A good part was coming up soon.

When he was through his chapter and most of the way done with the next, the bathroom door opened, and Nessiah stood in the frame looking down at him, wearing the same sweater and an old bathrobe that Gulcasa had luckily been putting off taking to charity. It was too big for Nessiah just like everything else, but the hem didn’t trail on the floor and it was enough to protect his modesty (and Gulcasa’s sisters’ eyes), so it was fine.

“I’m done,” Nessiah announced unnecessarily. He seemed more alert than before, at least.

Gulcasa nodded and dogeared his page again (he’d been just a few lines past the scene break anyway), then pushed himself up. “C’mon. My room, now. I want to have a look at how your arms are doing.”

His only response was a nod; Nessiah followed along behind him as he headed down the hall. Once they were in, Gulcasa closed the door behind him; he turned to see that Nessiah was already hoisting himself up to sit on the edge of the mattress, shrugging off the top of the robe and pushing up his sleeves.

Gulcasa strode over to the table to glance at his notes—he was pretty sure of them by now, but it was better to be safe than sorry if someone’s health was at stake—and then walked back over to Nessiah, carefully lifting his arms and running his fingertips over the skin, carefully pressing down to feel for places that were too firm or too tender.

Nessiah endured his ministrations without protest. “…You’re good at this. At checking. Who did you learn it from?”

Absently, Gulcasa nodded. “Coworker’s wife has done some nursing at the local hospital. She still volunteers down there every now and then, and I asked her how to handle your injuries. Made sure to take plenty of notes, since I only half-know what I’m doing here.”

“You could have fooled me.” A short silence. “So you do have a job after all?”

“Yeah.” Gulcasa looked up, found Nessiah staring at him, and didn’t break eye contact when Nessiah didn’t instantly look away. “I’m taking a bit of a break right now, though.”

“You must have a lenient employer.”

“Nah, I have a pretty strict employer, but for something like this, he knows that work isn’t quite so important. I’m the boss,” Gulcasa said plainly, deciding he’d better head off the guilt in Nessiah’s eyes instead of leaving the joke unexplained. “The company’s not unmanageably big, but we’ve got a lot of things to look after, so I run a tight ship. Everyone who works there’s like family. Luciana and Aegina do stuff there to make ends meet for college, and Emilia’s probably headed there once she can legally have a job. I haven’t told them about you, and my sisters know better than to do the same. I left things in competent hands, so I think I can mostly leave that lot to their own devices until I’m sure you’re all right on your own here.”

Nessiah was silent again for a while, and then nodded, smiling slightly. Gulcasa had to fight not to stare—that expression was pretty rare, and infinitely preferable to the wary, closed look that was usually on Nessiah’s face when he wasn’t asleep on his feet. “…I can imagine that. And it explains a lot.” Gulcasa nodded; it would be weird for someone as skittish as Nessiah to not have read into his surroundings, and Gulcasa had been keeping it warm in here for him. “You’re young to have inherited a company, though…?”

“It’s a long story—you’d probably find it pretty entertaining, but it really is long. And it takes more than me to tell properly, so it’ll probably have to wait until you’re comfortable enough here to trust me introducing you to everyone.” Nessiah’s smile faded, and he blinked at Gulcasa with something like surprise; Gulcasa smiled at him to reassure him. “You’re a member of the household now. You’ll be meeting them sooner or later, seeing as you’re one of us.”

Nessiah turned his head to stare at Gulcasa out of his left eye, the green one. The one that worked.

“They’re my family,” Gulcasa reiterated softly. “I trust them with my life, and the lives of my sisters. I’m willing to trust them with yours too, but they don’t hear about you and your circumstances until _you’re_ ready for that.”

Nessiah looked down. “…You trust people too easily.”

“Maybe, but it’s pretty rare for me to be completely wrong about doing it. You haven’t caused undue trouble yet.”

Gulcasa waited for Nessiah to look back up at him before he reached out to brush his fingertips across that damp blond hair.

Nessiah seemed to sink into himself—and slowly, his cheeks colored soft red.

That expression—and the way the soft light fell—something about it just struck some kind of chord. Gulcasa rested his hand on Nessiah’s back, and as if in reply, Nessiah leaned in and rested his forehead to the spot just below Gulcasa’s clavicle.

They stayed that way for a while—apparently Nessiah didn’t want to sit up, and Gulcasa understood full well how much it meant for Nessiah to draw close to him like this, so he didn’t want to be the one to break it. After a comfortable amount of time passed, Gulcasa softly shook Nessiah’s shoulder.

“C’mon. You need to eat.”

There was no verbal reply, but he felt Nessiah nod against his chest and lifted his hand.

The two of them headed back downstairs silently to find the lights on and Emilia sitting at the table with a bowl of cereal, a stack of what looked like math papers, and a sour expression.

Gulcasa raised his eyebrows. “Good morning.”

“Morning. I wouldn’t call it good, though.”

“Homework?”

Emilia groaned. “This is total crap. Why do we have to do stupid stuff like this we’re not gonna actually be doing for like another two or three years?”

“More extra credit, then? You know you don’t _have_ to do it,” Gulcasa pointed out as he headed into the kitchen.

“Yeah, but I should do it. You’ve even been nagging me to get my grade up.”

“That’s true, but this isn’t the way to do it. If you’re previewing higher algebra and precalc like I think they’ve got you doing, they don’t expect you to be able to get any of those problems at all. It’s a scare tactic.”

“If it’s a scare tactic, how come they’re offering five points per question on it? And besides, it makes no sense to try to scare us away from taking more math. We have to keep taking math.”

“In my experience, math teachers don’t have a great track record for making sense,” Gulcasa quipped, pulling out a skillet, the egg carton, and the bread. “There’s no shame in giving up, so you might as well.”

“Did _you_ ever get any of these extra credit things when you were in my grade?” Emilia asked in a suspicious drawl.

“Nope. So you know it’s impossible.”

“Nuh- _uh._ You just don’t want me beating you.”

Gulcasa shook his head and refused to dignify that with a reply as he turned the range on, greased the pan, and then went looking for spices.

“It’s _true._ If it wasn’t, you’d be here helping me instead of cooking.”

“Wrong again, princess. Your big brother is in the kitchen instead of helping you because A.) you’ll be raiding the cabinet in a few hours if you don’t get more than cereal, and B.) I only ever memorized that crap long enough to pass the tests and then forgot it.”

“Tch, yeah, which is why Luciana keeps swearing that if she sees you put one finger near the company budget books she’s gonna chop it off.”

Gulcasa made a face at the microwave. “I thought we agreed that we weren’t going to be talking about that.”

Emilia just laughed at him. Gulcasa made another face and put the bread in the pan, cracking eggs.

“…Would you let me have a look at it?”

The soft voice made Gulcasa turn sharply—then turn back at the last second, cursing softly, as he realized he still needed to tie his hair back or he might get it burnt.

“Knock yourself out.” Emilia groaned, and there was a soft slide of paper.

“…I remember this. I can show you how to do most of these, if you want.”

“Are you _serious?!_ Oh my god, you’re a lifesaver. Yes, please!”

“This one’s a little difficult, so follow along with me. Does your teacher want you to write your work out on the page?”

“Yeah, probably, to make sure we didn’t cheat.”

“…Then I’ll show you on a napkin or something. May I use your pencil?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Thank you. Now, these symbols…”

Gulcasa listened to Nessiah and Emilia with one ear and devoted the rest of his attention to the French toast. Emilia, at least, would get angry at him if he messed it up, and for all that Nessiah displayed very little appetite, he doubted his foundling would be too happy about getting served something burnt.

“…and that’s it.”

“Man, they actually expect us to _do_ this stuff? This is nuts. Why would you ever need this stuff?”

“If you wanted to work in construction or in programming, you might need it. I’m not sure why schools tend to require this kind of thing either, though…”

“Well, anyway, you’re really smart. I don’t think I’d ever be able to get this kind of thing…”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure it all depends on your teacher…”

“Well, then they should fire the jerk in charge of it at my school and hire you instead.”

“…………I-I don’t think I’m that suited to teaching…”

“Bull! I would never have been able to get this without you.”

“…You’re willing to listen and quick to catch on. I get impatient if I have to repeat myself too many times, and my first instinct when I get faced with people who stubbornly refuse to understand things is to tease them…”

“Really? I’d never figure. You’ve been pretty quiet up ‘til now.”

“…………”

“…Sorry, don’t worry about it. That was kinda dumb.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s true.”

It didn’t sound like there were going to be any real problems. Gulcasa nodded to himself, turned the range off, and stacked the finished French toast on plates.

“Sounds like you guys are getting along,” he remarked. “Breakfast’s ready.”

When he turned around, Emilia and Nessiah were looking at him almost as though they’d forgotten he could cook and listen at the same time.

“…it smells good,” Nessiah said at length.

“It _is_ good. Actually eat it, don’t sit and pick until it’s frozen. And Emilia, don’t let your cereal turn into bread soup.”

“Yeah, yeah, Mom.”

Gulcasa set their plates down in front of them, swatted Emilia on the head, and went back for his own, reaching back to pull his hair out of its tail as he did so.

By the time he sat down, though, Emilia was eating obediently and Nessiah was smiling.

“I meant it when I said eat,” Gulcasa said mildly, reaching across the table to lightly prod Nessiah in the shoulder. Nessiah gently pushed his hand away.

“That’s bad table manners.”

“So’s eating with your elbows on the table, but you do that all the time. We all do. Since when have we cared about table manners?”

“You yell at me when I chew with my mouth open.”

“That’s because you’re putting everyone off their food, and I do not _yell_ at you either.” Gulcasa shook his head—if he kept going they’d be at this forever—and went back to his own food. If he didn’t follow his own advice, these really would get cold, and French toast was always better hot.

For a long time, the only sound was Gulcasa and Emilia’s utensils. And if he hadn’t been reaching for a drink at that moment, Gulcasa would have missed it—slowly, Nessiah forked off a tiny corner of French toast and took a bite.

His eyebrows raised slightly, and then he smiled.


	4. candy or dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _(worn hearts_ – look, I’m right here)

Steadily—so very slowly and steadily—an entire month had gone by.

The bruises were obviously gone now, and the worse physical hurts were fading away. Nessiah’s arms were stiff every now and again, and all the biggest of the bone bruises still ached. But just the fact that injury hadn’t piled upon injury meant that he was in a much better state than he’d been in for the past several months.

And Gulcasa was still perfectly kind. Always so patient with him. Ever since that morning a few weeks ago when Nessiah had discovered the breakfast he’d been given was to his liking, Gulcasa had would-be-innocently slipped breakfast dishes into lunch and dinner. Emilia cheered—she also seemed to like breakfast—Luciana glared at her brother sourly, and Aegina accepted the change of menu as if it were completely ordinary. Nessiah ate, and hesitantly thanked Gulcasa for the food; no matter how long he watched, that smile never disappeared. Gulcasa never raised his voice while talking to him; he might yell at his sisters from time to time—they got into quite the arguments, much the way siblings always seemed to—but Nessiah knew the difference by now between their bickering and the raised voices that meant real danger.

It was even starting to be much less awkward at mealtimes. Gulcasa had discovered how best to arrange five chairs around the table so as to shield Nessiah from the worst of Luciana’s scrutiny and keep him between himself and Emilia; Nessiah was grateful for it. He wanted to say so, but wasn’t sure how; he had the feeling that Gulcasa already understood, anyway.

There wasn’t much he could do to show how he felt—saying so openly would only make Luciana angrier at him, and she _scared_ him—but Nessiah tried to manage the little things. Replying to Emilia when she asked him questions at the table, continuing conversations no matter how the awkward pressure made him want to flee, complimenting the food (Gulcasa was the best cook of all four of them, but his sisters weren’t bad either), and clearing the table.

After the first few times, even Luciana hadn’t looked askance at him, which made it much easier. Nessiah couldn’t carry everyone’s plates over to the sink at once, but as long as everyone was still talking and not focusing on him too much, it was easy for him to do it. And it felt good to be able to—as grateful as Nessiah was for Gulcasa’s care, he wanted to at least carry his own weight a little bit.

“Honestly, I had no idea what they were going to do until Baldus stepped in. It really seemed like Leon went too far this time…”

“…Well, Leon’s Leon, so it’s not like you can really help it.” Gulcasa shrugged and sighed, shaking his head dismissively.

Luciana crossed her arms and sulked. “You’re way too lenient on him, Gulcasa. We can’t just let Leon do what he wants. You’re honestly the only one he ever listens to, so you’d better figure something out.”

“I just know where he’s coming from, is all, even if I don’t agree with him all the time. I’ll talk to him or something, so don’t worry about it.”

Nessiah stood up softly, pushing his chair back carefully so as not to make noise, and then picked up his plate and Emilia’s. Gulcasa was still in the middle of his second helping, and the twins seemed to be still working on their first. They would probably take care of their own things when they were finished, but at least Nessiah could take care of these.

“Well, Velleman said to pass on that he’s getting tired of doing damage control, so…”

“I _get_ it already. I said I’ll talk to him.”

There was a sigh from Luciana, but the topic moved on to other things. Half-listening, Nessiah placed his plate in the sink and balanced Emilia’s on the counter, then turned to run the tap.

“Oh—”

He realized a second too late that he hadn’t pushed Emilia’s plate far enough back, and whirled as he felt it slip with half a mind to try grabbing it—just in time to watch it crash and shatter on the tile with a sound like the world was ending. All he could do was freeze, as if the flinch had gotten him caught in the atmosphere.

Dead silence from the table. Nessiah could feel four pairs of eyes on his back, and his hands began to shake.

“I—”

“Nessiah—”

He flinched again at the sound of his name, and shakily got down on his knees. It felt like the inside of his head was a kaleidoscope; the world reflected in his vision felt strange and unreal, and it was hard to breathe, like someone had pressed heavy felt over his face.

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry, I’ll pick them up, I’m sorry—”

Easier said than done when his body wasn’t cooperating, but it was so hard to think. Nessiah just knew that he had to fix this somehow, had to take care of the mess himself, or else—bad things were going to happen. His body tensed automatically against pain, and he winced as he gripped a piece of plate that bit into his fingertips. It didn’t matter. He just had to repair the damage he’d done somehow. The sound of his breathing was foreign to him, rough and detached.

As Nessiah strained to make his unresponsive hands move faster, there was the sound of a footstep, so close to him that a sudden burst of terror rendered his fingers entirely nerveless. How had he missed it, he needed to listen for things like this, what good had all that wariness done him—

Another footstep, and terror paralyzed his ability to think. Nessiah curled up, shielding himself with his arms, trying to look as small and unthreatening as he could.

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry—don’t—I’m sorry—I’ll take care of it—so please—so please—”

The footsteps kept drawing closer. Nessiah couldn’t breathe, couldn’t sense any avenue to flee. Any moment now, the hands would descend in blows, or seize his clothes and the nape of his neck to pull him up, all the better to aim for sensitive places, or clench in his hair and drag him through the pieces of broken plate to things he would not would not would not think about—

—A touch, very soft and gentle, between his shoulder blades. A warm hand was resting there, and it was smaller than it should be. While Nessiah stayed frozen, confused, that hand started to stroke down his spine in a soothing rhythmic motion.

“Nessiah.” The voice calling his name was hushed, female, and sad. “It’s alright. You aren’t there anymore. It’s alright, you’re safe.”

When the hand didn’t stop stroking and the voice didn’t raise in anger, Nessiah hesitantly uncurled and peeked to the side. It was Aegina; she had a concerned expression, and didn’t let up the gentle motion of her hand.

“I—”

“Sh.” Aegina’s hand paused midway down his spine, then patted softly. “We all make mistakes sometimes. You don’t have to be afraid.”

 _I don’t even understand what’s happening._ Why would Aegina—

But the attempt by Nessiah’s train of thought to find its rails was foiled by a second pair of footsteps. He flinched again, but before he could curl up, Luciana was crouched in front of him, sweeping shards of plate into a dustpan.

“I’ve got it, so don’t worry about it.” She paused for a moment in cleaning in order to flick one of her braids back over her shoulder and out of her way. Nessiah just shook his head.

“Here.” Aegina pulled carefully but insistently, bringing Nessiah to his feet with her as she stood up. She then turned towards the entrance to the kitchen proper. “Gulcasa…”

“Yeah.” His head starting to hurt, Nessiah turned a second later; Gulcasa was standing with his back against the pantry door, hands in his pockets. He’d probably been there for a while. “You guys don’t mind finishing up cleaning, right? Remember to get out the vacuum cleaner, the dustpan might miss some.”

Beside him, Aegina smiled a little. “You aren’t the only one who’s ever handled the chores. We know better than to hurt ourselves with a little broken plate.”

Gulcasa nodded and held out his arms. “C’mere, you.”

Aegina gave him a light push, but Nessiah was already walking on his own. The depths of his heart were still rotten with fear, but Gulcasa had been kind to him thus far, and what else could he do?

Instead of pulling him close, Gulcasa rested his hands on Nessiah’s shoulders and considered him. The other man’s gaze was unreadable; Nessiah could feel the urge to shrink into himself rising up, but bit his lip and stared at the floor, trying to resist.

“How do you feel?”

 _That’s a good question._ “Dizzy… my head hurts.” And as he was starting to feel like he could taste bile, he added “sick” and was silent.

Gulcasa nodded. “Then I guess we’ll get you a bath and put you to bed. If you’re feeling nauseous, you’ll just get worse if you spend tonight running around.” The pressure of that stare relented, and Nessiah risked a glance up to see that Gulcasa had turned towards the kitchen again. “I don’t want him downstairs tonight. Not now. If you lot want to complain about him sleeping in my room, then do it tomorrow.”

There were half-attentive sounds of assent from the twins, and the scraping of a chair—likely Emilia’s—from the kitchen, followed by a call of “I’m gonna get the vacuum.”

Silence.

“That all right?” Gulcasa asked softly. Nessiah didn’t know how he was supposed to answer, so he just nodded. It didn’t make that much difference in the end.

“…I—I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s just a plate—we’ve got way too many of those anyway,” Gulcasa replied right away, shaking his head. The warm hands on Nessiah’s shoulders slid down to his wrists and lifted his hands. “Looks like you got cut. C’mon, we can wash these out upstairs too.”

Nessiah didn’t know whether Gulcasa wanted a response to that or not, but there was another uncomfortable silence after he finished talking, so all he could do was nod again as that peculiar nervous feeling of his insides knotting started to overtake him.

“Hold on to me, then.” All Nessiah could do was blink as Gulcasa bent slightly and then strong but careful arms were lifting him. He couldn’t protest; it was all he could do to grip the front of Gulcasa’s shirt faintly as a peculiar sense of vertigo overcame him. Nessiah knew that he was safe, that Gulcasa wouldn’t drop him, but being raised to Gulcasa’s eye level was a little dizzying. From this perspective, even Nessiah could imagine what it must be like to be tall and strong, to be fearless.

Something inside him jolted as Gulcasa started to walk, and he turned around. There was another jolt—inside his chest this time—as his heartbeat picked up its tempo and his skin began to flush with the realization that his face was only a few inches away from Gulcasa’s, if that. If Gulcasa turned his way, they might well wind up nose-to-nose with each other. It was embarrassing—Nessiah was sure he had never been this close to someone else’s face before.

If Gulcasa sensed how flustered Nessiah felt, he gave no sign of it. Instead, he just kept walking at a smooth pace, mounting the stairs and somehow managing to nudge the bathroom door open without using his hands.

“Wait a second,” Gulcasa murmured, and set Nessiah down on the counter next to the sink. He sat there, reminded suddenly of a similar scene from several weeks ago, as Gulcasa turned around to flick the light switch.

“…” Wincing and drawing an arm up to shield his eyes from the sudden burst of light, Nessiah swallowed, trying to calm his insides. If he could help it, he wasn’t going to throw up now.

“Relax. The more nervous you are, the harder it’s going to be for you to keep dinner down.” There were the sounds of footsteps, and then the cabinet opening and boxes being shifted around. “If you can’t, you’ve got the sink to one side and the toilet to the other. Either way, I’m not worried about mess—being the oldest means cleaning up a lot of them.”

As the cabinet doors swung shut, Nessiah hesitantly lowered his arm, squinting to make sure the light wasn’t going to overwhelm him. Gulcasa caught his hand and held it up, apparently scrutinizing the cuts on his fingertips.

“They look pretty clean.” Still, he leaned over and started to run the sink, pulling Nessiah’s hand over so that his fingertips would be under the running water. It stung, a little. Instead of watching Gulcasa cleaning the cuts, he continued to look at Gulcasa’s expression… or lack thereof. He was still wearing that almost guarded apathetic look, and it wasn’t helping Nessiah settle down the least bit.

“…” A sudden bite of pain in his fingers made him look back down. Gulcasa was running an antiseptic cloth over the cuts; he could smell the alcohol, which only made it worse. All he could do was wince.

“…sorry. I don’t want to take any chances.”

Nessiah swallowed again and nodded. He’d dealt with worse pain than this; it shouldn’t be such a big deal. Gulcasa was already putting band-aids on the cuts.

“There you go, treatment’s all done.”

Listlessly, Nessiah glanced down at his hand, then looked back up at Gulcasa, who was running a hand through his hair.

“Okay. You can handle your clothes by yourself, right?”

There was nothing condescending about the question; it was as casual as it should be after the weeks they’d lived together. Nessiah thought for a moment and then nodded.

“Good.” Gulcasa walked across the room and sat on the edge of the tub, reaching to turn the faucet on. Nessiah considered for a moment whether or not he should warn Gulcasa that his hair would get wet if he didn’t push it over his shoulder and out of the basin soon, but as the water started to thunder against the floor of the bathtub, Gulcasa seemed to realize that himself and set about fussing with it.

Delicately, Nessiah scooted forward and slipped off the counter, turning his back to Gulcasa to undo the front of his oversized borrowed shirt. “Um… are you…”

“Yeah, I’m staying here. I’m not making you wash up one-handed.”

That wasn’t exactly what Nessiah had wanted to ask, but it was still an answer, so he silently finished stripping. Since they’d been through this a number of times when Nessiah had first come to stay here, it wasn’t as awkward as it might have been, but the strange forbidding atmosphere around Gulcasa was starting to make him nervous.

The roar of the water stopped, and after a moment, Gulcasa turned, looking over his shoulder. “C’mon. I don’t think this is too hot.”

Nessiah walked over to the side of the tub in cautious steps, dipping the fingertips of his uninjured hand into the water. As Gulcasa had said, the water was only warm, not hot. Still, he hesitated, glancing down at Gulcasa uncertainly.

“…What is it? Come on, the water’s going to get cold if you just stand there.”

“I…” Nessiah looked down at the tile for a moment, then lifted his head so that he could observe Gulcasa’s expression. “Are—you all right?”

“Huh?” Gulcasa was just looking at him blankly. Nessiah took a deep breath and went on.

“You seem… strange. You just feel different, I… can’t explain it very well. As if there’s some kind of wall between you and everyone else. The expression… you’ve had for the past while scares me a little.”

Gulcasa’s eyebrows raised a bit, and then the look on his face softened as his lips formed something that was half smile and half grimace.

“I guess there’s no hiding it from someone who’s had to be as cautious of his environment as you. C’mon, get in the tub. I’m not mad at you.”

There wasn’t any real reason not to listen, so Nessiah cautiously stepped into the water and sat down. It came up to his shoulders; the basin was deep and Gulcasa had filled it generously.

“You’ve been with us for a good while now. I may not know exactly what you ran from, but I have enough of an idea. Same with my sisters, though I doubt Luciana and Aegina really believed it before. Watching you have a panic attack… drives it home like nothing else, though.”

Nessiah remained silent. Gulcasa was looking at him, but it felt like he was being stared through—as though Gulcasa was really looking somewhere far off.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been this angry. I want to hunt down the bastard that put those bruises on you and pay him back for everything he ever did to you, every drop of blood, every tear. But I don’t know his name or where he is, and I’ve got the nasty feeling that if I did, I’d be dealing with the consequences for a while. The way you don’t want the law hearing what he did to you tells me that much.” As Nessiah watched, Gulcasa narrowed his eyes and clenched his fist. “Still, I want to go do it. I can’t, and I hate it. It’s throwing it in my face that despite all the power and influence I have now… I can’t even avenge what happened to you. It means I’m still weak. Still helpless. That isn’t a good feeling.”

Gulcasa took a deep breath and closed his eyes. His hand loosened from the fist he’d had it in, and he offered another lopsided, mirthless smile.

It brought to mind a phrase that Nessiah had read in a book once. _Those are eyes that curse the unfairness of the world._ He shuddered. That was real intent to kill that he was sensing from Gulcasa, although Gulcasa seemed to be suppressing it for Nessiah’s sake.

People weren’t like this. No one existed who was kindhearted enough to become this angry solely for someone else’s sake, did they?

“I didn’t mean to scare you or anything. No matter how pissed I am, it’s not your fault, and I’m not going to take it out on you.” Gulcasa shook his head. “I wonder if you can actually believe that after you’ve spent god knows how long getting beat up for stupid things, though…”

“I… know you don’t want to harm me.” If Gulcasa had wanted something like that, he would have done it long ago. It was difficult not to flinch away out of reflex, though.

“Still, it’s pretty much built in by now, isn’t it? To cower away, to apologize, to try to deflect anger by any means possible. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing,” Gulcasa added, lifting a hand and shaking his head again. “Smarter than the way I handled things, anyhow.”

Nessiah felt his forehead crease.

“…Come to think of it, you’ve spent all this time in the house and you barely know anything about us yet, do you?” Gulcasa smiled a little, and reached over to pick up the soap. “I’ll multitask, you just listen.

“I wasn’t born into money. All four of us were adopted into a rich family by a couple that couldn’t have their own children. Our adopted mom was big into charity, so she decided she’d rather take in kids from the shelter she helped sponsor than pay for fertility treatments.”

“…Shelter?”

“Yeah. For abandoned and abused kids. You probably already guessed, but Emilia and I aren’t blood-related to Luciana and Aegina. We were all at the same shelter together and were friends; the Albelts had the money, so they took us all in. No blood bond, but the Albelts… were really great parents.” Gulcasa closed his eyes and smiled fondly. “Mom and Dad died in an accident about four years ago, but Dad’s dad, our grandfather in a manner of speaking, took care of our schooling expenses and such; he also maintained the house until I was getting paid enough at the company to handle it myself. I was just a worker back then; Dad worked for the same company, and so did another family we were close with. That was how we got into it. I was only made the president three years ago.

“Still, that’s neither here nor there right now. Luciana and Aegina were doorstep babies—they were left at the shelter when they were little, and we don’t really know who their birth family is, just that whoever it was abandoned them. They won’t mind that I told you that; they tend to be pretty open about it. We’re family, no matter how it got to be that way.

“As for Emilia and I…”

Gulcasa’s hands came to a rest for a moment, but then he just made that mockery of a smile again and resumed scrubbing.

“My mother left when I was little. I don’t remember her very well, but my old man must’ve really loved her, because he stopped being able to handle it afterward. He must’ve blamed me for it, because I don’t think he treated me particularly badly before that, but…” Gulcasa shrugged one shoulder and went on. “He remarried and he and my stepmother had Emilia, but giving birth hurt her on the inside somehow. She died a few months after, and it just got worse after that.

“He never hit Emilia, it was only me. I didn’t exactly help things, either. I tried keeping my head down for a bit when I was little, but after a while I guess I just decided that wasn’t working and started trying to provoke the bastard when he went after me. I was incorrigible when I was well enough to go to school. Didn’t listen to the adults, got into fights, pushed people around. I’d be at school long enough to convince myself I was tough shit, then I’d fight back when my old man went after me and we were back at square one.

“This went on for years. I was covered in bruises most of the time, every now and again I went around with things broken or sprained, and I had all the social grace of some wild animal. Emilia went completely neglected except when I played with her. I never did anything bad to her—I might have been a bully back then, but I knew better than to make little girls cry. I convinced myself I was protecting her by focusing all my old man’s hatred on myself, and for my own sake, I decided I wasn’t going to lose to him.

“I was ten that day. I forget what I did to piss the old bastard off, but he laid into me that day and he wouldn’t stop even after I was too hurt to fight back. Not that I didn’t try—at least at first. After a while, it just hurt too much to stand back up, so I lay there and let him hit me and throw me around.” Gulcasa related this calmly, then sighed and looked up, his line of sight just over the top of Nessiah’s head. “After that it’s mostly just a mess in my memories. He was strangling me with both hands at the end, I remember that. I was wondering if I would die like that when the police burst in. Emilia called them. She must have only figured out how to work the phone a few weeks ago; hell, she was four years old.

“She saved my life.” Gulcasa smiled. His eyes were gentle, just like the motion of his hands as he went over Nessiah’s spine with soap and cloth, but his expression seemed somehow hollow and lonely. “I don’t know what happened to the old man after that. He’s probably rotting in some jail cell somewhere. After that, though, Emilia and I were taken to the shelter. The adults there knew how to treat kids like us—hell, that was most of their job. It was being around other kids like me and being treated kindly that civilized me again. Took a few weeks of being scared of everything, feeling like I had to throw the first punch if I didn’t want to get hit instead, until I realized I was safe. And it took longer to wear all those self-preservation instincts out of me.

“Still, that was where I made friends for the first time. Luciana and Aegina attached themselves to me, and to the kids I hung out with the most. And after a while, we got adopted, which brings us back to where I started.

“My point, though… is that I know what it feels like to get hit too, Nessiah. I know what it feels like to wonder if tomorrow is going to come at all. I worked to become strong so that I would be able to protect myself, and stop things like that from happening to other people. So seeing what you’re going through makes me so mad it’s like the inside of my head is getting whitewashed. It’s not your fault, and I will never take my anger out on you. You are safer in this house than you would be anywhere else in the world. I just wish that I could have found you and gotten you out of there sooner.”

Nessiah sat there and watched Gulcasa and let the words sink into him, as though they were marbles in a flower vase, and Gulcasa leaned over and reached into the water to open the drain.

Holding on to the side of the tub, Nessiah carefully stood; Gulcasa silently handed him a towel, and then another shirt. With some difficulty—his fingers protested if he held on to the fabric too tightly—he managed to pull it on, and rolled the sleeves back enough that his hands weren’t lost in them.

He was starting to get used to not wearing any clothes of his own, he realized. It had felt so strange back when Gulcasa had first lent him shirts, but now it was starting to feel normal.

“C’mon,” Gulcasa said, and led him through the hall to the master bedroom.

Nessiah hadn’t been here since that first day, and nothing much had changed. Clothes were still hanging over the side of the hamper, he still couldn’t remember the name of the chair that had the cushions and blanket piled up in it, there was a new plaid comforter on the bed, and a stack of books on the bedside table.

He hadn’t been able to say anything at all, and that wasn’t right. Having to explain all of that must have been difficult; reaching into a past you were trying to bury had to be painful. If Nessiah didn’t acknowledge that somehow—well, he doubted anything bad would happen, but it just didn’t feel right not to.

So he reached out and caught Gulcasa’s sleeve.

Wordlessly, expectantly, Gulcasa turned to look down at him.

“…It wasn’t… my parents,” Nessiah said softly, hoarsely. It was as if his lack of anything else to say had pulled all the other words back so that these had come tumbling out on their own. “They killed themselves when I was a child—a lover’s suicide. I was given to a friend of the family. My guardian was the one who…” The words wouldn’t come out, but with Gulcasa, they weren’t needed. “You’re right. My family has a great deal of political power. I know the name Albelt, and I know that you have authority, but I don’t know if that’s enough to challenge them. Not even the main family was aware of it, so… I don’t want anything to do with them anymore.” The words were all coming out confused, so all he could do was pray Gulcasa would understand what he was trying to say. Nessiah tightened his grip on Gulcasa’s sleeve and looked up at him pleadingly. “The life I have here is something I’ve always wanted. I don’t want to endanger it. I want to put everything else behind me and just stay here, even if that means there are things we can’t talk about, even if I can’t even afford to tell you my full name. You could say that I’m running away, but—”

“Sh.”

There was something warm brushing against his lips. It was the tip of Gulcasa’s index finger. That was more than enough to completely derail Nessiah’s errant train of thought; all he could do was stare up timidly.

“It’s alright. I know. We’re not going to go sniffing around your past, Nessiah. You’re a member of this family. If people come looking for you, then we’ll protect you; otherwise, all we have to do is keep living, day to day. That okay?”

And Gulcasa moved his hand so that his palm was cupping Nessiah’s cheek, soft and supportive and warm. Nessiah smiled and closed his eyes.

“I’m glad.” There was a short silence, and then: “I think it’s bedtime.”

And Gulcasa’s hand lifted away. There was the sound of footsteps, then a shift of fabric and a creak of bedsprings; Nessiah opened his eyes and turned to see that Gulcasa was already up on the right-hand half of the bed.

…That was right, they were here to sleep, weren’t they? Nessiah shook his head at himself and headed toward the chair.

“No, not over there. That thing’s fine to sleep on in emergencies, but I think it’s a little uncomfortable for you right now. Up here.”

Gulcasa was on his blind side, so Nessiah turned around again; he was pulling down the covers on the left side of the bed.

As Nessiah stood and stared, Gulcasa looked up at him, and then quickly glanced away. (Was he _embarrassed?_ ) “…If you don’t have a problem sharing the bed, I mean. What with… everything.”

He could feel his face starting to heat up, but Nessiah smiled. Slowly—cautiously—he padded across the floor towards the side of the bed, and levered himself up.

The mattress was as soft as he remembered it being, and while the springs shifted and protested under him, they didn’t do so loudly. Nessiah arranged himself carefully on the side of the bed he’d been allotted, lay back against the pillow, and turned slightly to address Gulcasa (…he’d made sure to give Nessiah this side of the bed so that he wouldn’t wind up on Nessiah’s blind side. It was still a kind of revelation that someone could be so considerate), who was looking straight ahead, slouched back against the wall with his arms crossed and balanced on his knees.

“…Thank you.”

Gulcasa looked down at him and smiled slightly. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

-           -           -

 

Nessiah woke warm, rested, and feeling perfectly safe.

…That was rare. It was very rare, even here, even though he always knew where he was when he awoke these days. The sofa he usually slept on was always comfortable, and he was always warm in the mass of blankets he’d been given; something about this bed was very different.

It was probably, Nessiah realized as his senses continued to return, the warm protective presence next to him. His chest felt very full.

Soft tapping sounds, like someone working at a typewriter, reached his ears; slowly, Nessiah opened his eyes.

He was lying on his side, facing the other half of the bed. Gulcasa was sitting on top of the covers with his pillow being used to cushion his back against the wall, fully dressed and with a laptop balanced on his crossed legs. There was something else different about him, Nessiah realized after staring for a moment—he was wearing glasses.

Nessiah tried pushing himself up, but had to stop to rub the sleep out of his eyes and cover a yawn. When he was able to look back at Gulcasa, the latter was removing earbuds and smiling down at him.

“Hello.”

“Good morning,” Nessiah managed, his voice still a little slurred. He yawned again, and tried to push himself up again to a bit more success than his previous attempt. “… _Is_ it morning?”

Gulcasa frowned at his laptop’s monitor, then shrugged. “It’s more like three in the afternoon, but they say it’s morning for the first couple hours after you wake up, so ‘good morning’ still works. You were out for a long time; last night wore you out, didn’t it?”

Nessiah shrugged and pushed himself all the way upright, stretching. “The glasses,” he said sleepily, pointing. “You weren’t wearing them before…”

Gulcasa tilted his head, looking nonplussed, and then smiled wryly. “They’re reading glasses. I’m a little farsighted, but it’s not that bad unless I have to read text that’s really small.” And he tilted his laptop so that Nessiah could see rows and rows of tiny numbers, along with what looked like a couple of documents open in the taskbar. “As long as I’m playing hooky here, I can at least take care of a little paperwork. I’ll get yelled at if I don’t, and besides, I don’t want to fall out of the habit for when I do go back.”

This seemed reasonable enough to Nessiah, and so he nodded.

“…Oh, right, before I forget. Aegina was out shopping earlier, and she said she picked something up for you. I got caught up working, but I was waiting up here to tell you that. And, well, keep an eye on you.”

“Something for me?” Nessiah repeated blankly. _Aegina?_

“That’s right.” Gulcasa kept typing for a few moments, then closed his laptop and put a hand on Nessiah’s shoulder. It rested there warmly and gently, and made him want to lean into the touch like a cat. “Shall we go see what it is?”

And that was that.

When they got downstairs, Emilia and Luciana were both sitting on the couch—the former intent on the television with a video game controller in her hands, the latter leaning back against the far armrest with an mp3 player on her lap and earbuds in, her fingers following along with the music—and Aegina was at the table, looking over some official-seeming papers.

“Look who’s awake,” Gulcasa announced, and Aegina glanced up from her work with a disoriented expression. Once her gaze lit upon Nessiah, however, she shook her head slightly and then smiled.

“Are you feeling all right now?” she asked, leaving her papers on the table and standing up.

He could feel his cheeks starting to flush, but he nodded. “Yes… thank you.”

Aegina waved her hand, and moved towards the door of the downstairs bathroom. “Gulcasa…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m getting shooed off, I know.” With a good-natured shrug, he made his way towards the living room, and proceeded to perch on Emilia’s armrest, pointing at the television screen. From the look of annoyance on Emilia’s face, he was giving her unsolicited advice.

A little unsure as to what to expect, Nessiah turned back towards Aegina, who was smiling and holding up something on a hanger, covered in what looked like a long black trash bag.

“I was out shopping earlier, and I started thinking that it really is a little sad that after all this time, you have to keep wearing my brother’s clothes… so I picked up a few things, if you’d like to try them?”

He didn’t know what to say. All he could do was nod, feeling his face heat up brilliantly.

“I went online and checked size comparisons between that party dress you came here in and other brands… so I’m pretty sure these should all fit.” Aegina bit her lip and tucked a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. “I hope that that dress was to your everyday taste, and not just for show… those are the kinds of things I looked for.”

Hurriedly, Nessiah shook his head. “N-no, I don’t mind that. Thank you…”

She pulled the plastic off the hanger and handed it to him; Nessiah retreated into the bathroom and took a closer look. There were indeed five different dresses here, all sleeveless and long in the skirts. And none had those awkward bodice-emphasizing V-necks, although there were a few done peasant-style, drawn in at the bust.

From personal experience, Nessiah was rather impressed. He’d always had trouble shopping, those few times when he’d had the chance—always having hated the cling of pants for various reasons, he had always opted for skirts or dresses when he was afforded the opportunity to choose his own clothing. There had been times in the past he’d been teased for crossdressing, but he didn’t really consider it in transgender terms—he wanted his clothes at least to feel comfortable.

None of the dresses were flashy, none of them were scratchy, and all of them fit well enough. The pale blue one might need to have the bust taken in a bit if he wanted to wear it, but that was how things went.

“Well?” Aegina’s voice asked; Nessiah wondered if that nervousness was all in his imagination. “Are they all right?”

Nessiah opened the door just enough to smile at her. “They’re perfect. I couldn’t have chosen any better myself.”

Aegina smiled back with relief in her eyes, and held out a pair of scissors. “Then, here. You can cut the tags off.”

And that was exactly what he did. He’d gotten used to wearing nothing but Gulcasa’s shirts, but it felt good to have his own clothes again. Hopefully, there would be some way he could repay Aegina for this eventually.

Since Aegina had gone to all the trouble, Nessiah didn’t bother changing back into the overlarge shirt; he was still in the cream-colored dress when he left the bathroom.

“It does look good. I’m glad that it fits.” Aegina took a step back and stared at Nessiah for a moment (the intensity made him want to fidget), then finally nodded to herself. “Shall I put the rest away?”

He blushed and nodded. “Yes, please.”

“All right.” And Aegina gathered up the other four dresses, then frowned. “Gulcasa? Where were you keeping the shirts you let him use?”

“Usually he just grabs them out of my closet. There’s room in there, put ‘em on the empty side.”

As Nessiah looked on, Aegina glanced heavenward and shook her head. “Something tells me we should probably take _you_ out shopping for something new, too…”

“Answer’s no. I have more than enough clothes already. If you _must_ continue attempting to buy out every fashion outlet in existence, do it on Nessiah’s behalf, not mine.”

With a long-suffering look on her face, Aegina departed in the direction of the stairs; there was a loud creak of furniture, and Nessiah turned to see that Gulcasa had stood up and was walking toward him.

“That does look good on you,” he said, nodding. “You like it?”

It was suddenly difficult to respond, and so Nessiah just blushed and ducked his head in some semblance of a nod, smiling.

“Hey, Emilia. Pause that. And turn off your sister’s iPod,” Gulcasa called back into the living room, grinning. “Doesn’t this look good?”

Emilia obediently pressed buttons, then grinned and took a swipe at Luciana’s mp3 player. Opening her eyes with a fierce scowl, Luciana pulled it out of the way, then took out her earbuds on her own. Nessiah bit his lip to stifle the giggle.

At least Luciana didn’t seem too angry. Emilia ran up to him with a wide smile. “That’s really cute! It looks like the skirts are all fluffy and spinny, too! Try to spin ‘em!”

“What are you, two?” Gulcasa demanded, laughing, but Nessiah obligingly twisted his hips in a half-twirl, sending the skirts of his dress floating in a wide circle just above his knees. Emilia squealed appreciatively.

Luciana just looked at him and nodded, very similar to the way Aegina had. “…Dresses certainly do suit you. It’s a little odd; before now, I’ve never met a man I couldn’t imagine wearing pants.” And with another nod, she returned to her spot on the couch.

“High praise,” Gulcasa remarked, smirking, as Emilia giggled. Nessiah had to hide his smile behind a hand; if he didn’t, he would wind up laughing too.

And then the doorbell rang.

Gulcasa turned towards the front door, frowning slightly. “Were we expecting anyone today? Wonder if that’s the mail or something.”

He walked down the hall, and Nessiah heard the sound of the door opening.

“Wait, what are you guys doing here?”

“Well, that’s a fine how-do-you-do!” The voice that answered him was female and full of vive. She sounded more amused than angry. “Take off those glasses, you dope.”

“Huh? Oh.” There was the sound of rustling, and then laughter, both a girl’s and a man’s.

“Are you gonna invite us in or not?”

“Now that you mention it—” There was the sharp swing of a door, then an indignant shriek; the hinges creaked again, and Gulcasa was the one laughing this time. “Kidding. C’mon in.”

Nessiah’s chest jumped unpleasantly, but before he had the chance to dash off to find a back room to hide in, Gulcasa was leading a pair of strangers into the kitchen.

“Nessiah, these two are Baldus and Siskier. They’re my coworkers and really good friends of mine. You don’t have to be nervous; they’re good people.” Gulcasa’s smile softened as he turned toward Nessiah and offered the introduction. “As for you two, since you’ve probably been wondering, this is the reason I haven’t been able to come in. His name’s Nessiah, and he’s been staying with us for a while.”

There was a short silence wherein Nessiah stared at the newcomers and they stared back at him. Baldus was a tall man who seemed to be in his fifties. The crown of his head was indeed shiny and bald, but the hair on the back of his head, along with his beard and mustache, were long and full. He had dark eyes surrounded by laugh lines and looked very powerfully built. The girl, Siskier, looked about the same age as Gulcasa, but she was closer to the twins’ height, maybe a little shorter—though that still made her taller than Nessiah by just a bit. She had short blond hair, bright aqua-colored eyes, and a friendly expression. There was an elaborate blue tattoo on her shoulder; despite how cold it seemed outside, she was wearing a tank top. And, for whatever reason, a shiny pink scarf with red paisley patterning.

“N-nice to meet you,” Nessiah managed at last in a very quiet voice.

Baldus bowed his head slightly and smiled (the wrinkles beneath his eyes deepened). “It’s my pleasure.”

Siskier nodded enthusiastically. “Oh man. Everybody was kind of joking around wondering what Gulcasa took home with him this time, since he was acting like a little kid trying to take care of a puppy or something, but you’re more like a kitten than a puppy. And that dress is _adorable.”_

Unsure what to say in response, Nessiah nodded slightly.

“Well, at least I don’t have to go asking you lot if I can keep him,” Gulcasa retorted in his place, rolling his eyes. “C’mon in, I’ll put coffee on.”

“Only if you’ve got that good creamer still around.”

“I’ve been keeping extra cans around for you, you mooch.”

“You are the world’s best boss, you know that?”

“Stop kissing up already!”

“Gulcasa, do you have the spreadsheets ready?”

“Yeah, I was just finishing them up half an hour ago. Lemme get this thing started and then I’ll pull them up, okay?”

Five minutes later, the house was filled with the smells and sounds of the coffeepot running, Gulcasa was at the table with his laptop on and his glasses back on his face with Baldus looking over his shoulder, and Nessiah had given up with trying to keep up with things.

“We’ve known Siskier _forever,”_ Emilia volunteered, probably seeing his confusion. “We met her at the shelter and she got adopted around the same time we did. Our families are friends, so we’ve been together for a long time.”

“I see,” Nessiah murmured in return as Siskier sat down on the couch next to Luciana, who smiled at her. It was hard to imagine a girl as vibrant as this undergoing any kind of abuse, but then, appearances deceived. It was hard to imagine Gulcasa being beaten or Emilia being neglected, too.

“My brother told us all that he explained everything to you,” Emilia said, smiling. “I’m glad. It’s kinda easier to deal with people if you know you’ve got stuff in common, right?”

“…It is,” he agreed, and smiled back. “Even if this is a sad thing to share.”

Emilia put one arm around his waist and hugged, leaning against his shoulder; before Nessiah had the time to be surprised, she let go and went to pester Siskier.

He was left standing there, at something of a loss, until Gulcasa leaned around his laptop to stare at him, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “Come sit down already, will you?”

There was no reason not to, so Nessiah crossed the room and pulled up the chair on Gulcasa’s free side. Gulcasa was scrolling through his spreadsheets, explaining them to Baldus; Nessiah sat still and let the words wash over him.

“This is what it should come up to, including our pitch-in for the last publicity party. We should have just enough to deal with throwing ours.” Gulcasa made a face and folded his arms. “And I am _not_ looking forward to being stuck in a damn tux for another entire night.”

“You were wearing one when we first met, weren’t we? It looked very good on you,” Nessiah offered.

“I was, but that was only because I was coming back from that stupid publicity ball. I _hate_ having to wear suits. They’re so stuffy and pretentious.”

“And lucky you, you get to dress down all the time ‘cause you’re the boss,” Siskier said dryly from her seat on the couch. Emilia had gone back to her video game; while Nessiah had been listening to Gulcasa and Baldus talking, Aegina had come downstairs and was sitting with the other girls.

“All the time while we’re _working._ We have to maintain appearances when we’re trying to make business connections, even if I think it’s stupid.” Gulcasa leaned back and groaned. “Somebody go get the coffee already. Not you,” he said when Nessiah began to push his chair back. “Those lazy girls have gotten used to you taking care of the plates and crap for them, and unless you let them handle this on their own, they might forget how.”

A little awkwardly, Nessiah settled back down as Emilia and Luciana began to bicker over who was going to get the coffee. Something about what Gulcasa had said before Siskier jumped into the conversation was bothering him, but by now he couldn’t remember what. He resigned himself to looking at the lines and rows of numbers to calm himself down—and then frowned.

“This part’s not right,” he murmured, pointing.

“Huh?”

Forgetting his shyness, Nessiah reached across Gulcasa’s lap to grab the wireless USB mouse and highlighted the cell with the mistake. “See? According to the sums you’ve already got, this number should be a lot higher.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Gulcasa took the mouse back, pulled up a calculator program, and checked it over, coming up with the answer Nessiah had already suggested. “This is all copy-pasted from things I got from Luciana and Eudy, and they hardly ever make mistakes. I would’ve missed that if you hadn’t pointed it out. Damn, that gives us a lot more to work with when it’s our turn to drag out the pomp and circumstance.”

As he typed in corrections, Nessiah became aware that Baldus was staring at him with an appraising look on his face and a smile, absently stroking the end of his beard.

“You have a very good eye,” Baldus remarked idly. Nessiah blushed badly.

Finished, Gulcasa took off his glasses and hung them by one earpiece on the collar of his shirt, grinning at Nessiah like an especially devious Cheshire Cat.

“Once you’re feeling better and we don’t have to worry about drawing too much attention to you,” he said with an innocence that did not match his expression at all, “you want a job?”


	5. another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _(the ultimate reality_ – the guardians of the black lace border are all gone today)

The hour was still quite early when Gulcasa woke.

Even though he hadn’t gone to sleep particularly late at night, he still just wanted to roll over and go back to bed. As he shifted, the annoying voice of logic in the back of his head told him that that wasn’t an option—the damn ball was tonight, and if he was going to impress the guests, there was still a lot of arranging that had to be done in the old mansion. Even though the major battle—cleaning the place out and getting the decorations set up—had been won, the war would be going on all day; there were caterers to contact and an interior designer he needed to have express words with, seeing as Baldus’ polite way of dealing with things seemed to have been insufficient. He also needed to go down to the coffee shop and convince Medoute to come with them, which would take the better part of an hour at least—she didn’t like pomp and circumstance any more than he did, but he damn well wasn’t going to suffer all by himself, and she needed a break from her job sometimes too.

But a light pull at his shirt stopped him when he reluctantly tried to sit up, bringing his attention firmly back to the here and now.

The pull came from a hand loosely clutching the shirt; the hand was Nessiah’s, and Nessiah himself lay slightly curled on his side, sleeping deeply, more on Gulcasa’s side of the bed than his own.

Gulcasa just stared at him.

They’d been sleeping in the same bed ever since that night, and even Luciana wasn’t complaining about it anymore. It had become something normal, and since it seemed to be a comfort for Nessiah (well, honestly, it was much better than making him sleep on the couch), everyone just accepted it. Gulcasa had gathered up all his own unnecessary feelings and shoved them into a box, then closed the lid, and that was that.

Maybe it was just the soft light sifting through the curtains, but Nessiah looked somehow different from usual. The lack of bruising probably had something to do with it too—even after his injuries had healed, Nessiah tended to carry himself like a victim and cringe slightly away from anything that he perceived as threatening, but right now his expression was relaxed, and he kept holding softly to Gulcasa’s shirtfront, as though placidly determined to get his way even in his sleep.

 _…Well, it’s a sign things are going back to normal now, and it’s only natural that we’ll start to see him more as a person than a stray. Even if the transition was supposed to be from “foundling” to “family member”._ Gulcasa shrugged one shoulder and lay back down, contemplating the way Nessiah’s short hair fell about his face and the fluff of the not-quite-thin-enough-to-be-called-gauzy nightgown he’d borrowed from Aegina gaping a bit at the shoulder, exposing a sliver of his chest.

If anyone were to walk in and see Nessiah for the first time like this, they would automatically believe what Luciana had accused back when the two had first met—that Nessiah was some lover that Gulcasa had brought back to the house. That was definitely what all this would look like.

And the only reason that Gulcasa might oppose that assumption would be because he didn’t know what Nessiah would think of the idea.

It wasn’t as though boxing those emotions up made him any less aware of them. Gulcasa knew that.

The point was more to make sure that he could keep them from intruding on Nessiah’s mental and emotional recovery until he was in the state to make his own decision on how to answer. Gulcasa had learned enough from Siskier and from Leon to know how important that was. And he knew he could wait until that point.

Smiling a little, Gulcasa wrapped an arm around Nessiah’s body, holding him close. Nessiah’s grip tightened subtly, and he curled a little closer to Gulcasa’s chest, like a cat seeking warmth.

The rest of the world could spare him an extra hour or two.

 

-           -           -

 

A lesser man might have been tempted to regret that decision later that day, but Gulcasa remained determined not to do so. No matter how Luciana grumbled, there were some things that were worth getting scolded and hissed at, and an extra few hours of sleep curled up with someone else was one of them.

Besides, Baldus, Velleman, and his sisters definitely had the final arrangements in hand. By the time he’d gotten up, he’d only had to personally see to the problem with that interior designer, and that had gotten resolved quickly enough.

All in all, things were settled in a great upsurge of energy that made Gulcasa feel rather like a family-shaped hurricane had hit and he and Nessiah had been swept up in it, and only deposited safely once the sun had started to set and guests were beginning to arrive.

“I hate tuxedoes,” Gulcasa complained to no one in particular.

“Unfortunately, you do need to look a bit impressive for this,” Nessiah said softly, smiling as he straightened the tie that Gulcasa had gotten sick of arguing with. “The leader of one of the top metallurgy companies in the country has a reputation, and you might be discounted due to your youth if you don’t take care to look the part.” Slender white fingers gave the thin strip of fabric one last tug, and Nessiah’s smile grew. “There you go, all finished.”

Gulcasa raised an eyebrow. “It sounds like you’ve learned the rote pretty well, there. Too many people tend to be convinced that we’re just a steel firm; it gets obnoxious having to correct them.” He didn’t remember actually telling Nessiah what the company actually did, either.

Nessiah looked up at him, still smiling, and swept a few strands of dull gold hair out of his face. “Yes, Emilia told me, and Luciana also lectured me not to make that mistake. If I’m to be presenting myself here as a friend of the family, then that would be a terrible place to mess up. Besides, I was able to place you once you told me your surname. Even if I wasn’t directly exposed to…” His expression fell slightly, but then he went on with a brief shake of his head. “At any rate, I’ve heard the name Gulcasa Albelt before, so I was able to put two and two together—I should have done so earlier. I mean, your given name isn’t exactly common.”

“I don’t think I’d like it if it were—at least, that’s been my response to years of teachers going _who names their son ‘Gulcasa’, of all things?_ ” He rolled his eyes as he mimicked the old offended voices and grinned slightly. He was pretty sure that Nessiah would realize he was steamrolling over the almost-broached topic of his former life, but also trusted Nessiah to know that it was because he was willing to wait until it was easier to talk about.

And he was rewarded with a soft smile for his pains.

 _Shit._ Gulcasa tried to swallow discreetly, but it was hard to do that when faced with this kind of expression.

Nessiah looked good. Luciana had mentioned before that she’d never met a man she couldn’t imagine wearing pants, and Gulcasa had to agree with her—dressed in white silk and chiffon with touches of red, he looked more like some androgynous wood sprite or an Old Testament angel than a young man. His skin was unmarred, he was smiling freely, and that smile was for Gulcasa alone. If there was anyone whose heart didn’t beat faster at a sight like that, then they probably had ice water for blood.

…This was gonna be a long night.

 

-           -           -

 

And yet it turned out not to be so long after all.

Perhaps it was just that the business and the talking tended to go faster when there was someone sympathetic at your elbow making smart remarks beneath his breath every time there was a pause in the conversation; perhaps it was just that everyone and their little brother was there, and all the old friends being present helped to pass the time. In any case, Gulcasa didn’t have to spend too much time dwelling uncomfortably on either his business associates or Nessiah’s glowing smiles.

Or perhaps it was just that there were so many introductions that had to go around—earlier today, everyone had been too busy to actually grill him about Nessiah; Siskier and Baldus were still the only ones outside the household who knew anything about their circumstances.

Leon was one of the first to arrive. He was looking every bit as resentful about having been stuffed into a tuxedo as Gulcasa felt, although it seemed that his hair had defied all of his little sister Elena’s attempts to make it lie flat. Upon being presented with Nessiah for the first time, Leon crossed his arms and stared at him hard, intimidating Nessiah so much that he started to shrink behind Gulcasa the way that he hadn’t for at least a week—then shrugged and scratched his head and proclaimed that he was sure Gulcasa could do better, but he’d also done worse.

“You, for instance?” Gulcasa said mildly, grinning. Leon took a swipe at him; he ducked it, laughing.

“Screw it, this is way too stuffy. And everywhere I look, all there is to drink is rotten grapes in a glass. _Fuck,_ I hate fancy parties.”

“There’s beer inside, in the fridge,” Gulcasa told him, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the mansion. “I’m warning you, though—get smashed and start causing trouble, and not only will I not protect you from Luciana, I’ll be helping her kick your ass.”

Leon rolled his eyes, made a face, grumbled some kind of lame retort, and slouched off.

Nessiah cautiously ventured out from behind Gulcasa’s back a few moments later, and watched a little nervously after Leon’s back as he disappeared from view.

“Don’t worry, you’ve actually got his seal of approval,” Gulcasa explained quietly. “It’s not as hard to tell once you’ve known him for a while, but Leon’s a good enough guy—he just gets embarrassed easily, so he’d rather make snide remarks than say straight out that he likes someone. You’ve probably got a bad opinion of him from Luciana already, but for all that he’s—well, _Leon,_ he’s a good friend of mine. Took a long time to win him over, but once he’s on your side, he’ll follow you anywhere. He isn’t so bad.”

He was starting to wonder if that had had any effect on Nessiah, but his companion seemed to have relaxed a little. He was now glancing after Leon with an expression of interest. “And you two were…”

“Yeah, but that was years ago, and it wasn’t serious. His parents had just died, and he was in a bad way. He needed somebody, and that was just how it went. We’re just friends.”

Nessiah smiled again. “I could tell that much. I hope you’ll tell me more about how all of this happened sometime.”

…Well. Gulcasa shifted uncomfortably and glanced away. Nessiah was good at reading into things—he’d made that observation plenty of times, and after having spent most of his life in an abusive environment, it was an important survival skill. The question was whether or not he’d be able to see through Gulcasa to why he’d been so quick to assert that he and Leon were _just friends_ now.

The next half hour’s worth of polite introductions went by as Gulcasa contemplated just how screwed he might already be. No one else was quite as brusque as Leon, so Nessiah didn’t wind up hiding from anyone else, even though he quailed a little under Velleman’s harsh stare until he complimented Nessiah’s bookkeeping work (Baldus had probably confided the incident to him). Things went more smoothly after that.

Gulcasa’s observational skills—such as they were—hadn’t dulled too badly either, so it didn’t take him very long to notice that Nessiah had attached himself quite firmly to Gulcasa’s left arm, thereby putting Gulcasa squarely on his blind side. It was an expression of such trust that he didn’t really know what to think, or even how to acknowledge it properly.

“And this is Medoute, who you almost met the same night we first ran into each other. Needless to say, she’s a barista. For some reason, she insisted upon dressing to fit her job description tonight.”

“Oh, come on, you know I hate dressing up in loads of frills. Just be glad I’m here at all; there’s plenty of things I’d rather be doing.”

“But just think about all the opportunities to _socialize_ you’re missing out on when you’re sitting around making other people’s coffee. Besides, you get to meet new people, even.”

Medoute was the last new face he had to present to Nessiah tonight—it had taken a while to find out where she was hiding. Even Leon was making less fuss about having to be at the publicity party than her—and in the end, Gulcasa had only been able to drag her along because she owed him several favors. She’d come in her nicest uniform in what was probably a bid to spite him, which had made Emilia sulk and grumble and swear that someday she’d manage to get Medoute into a pretty dress. Gulcasa didn’t care about that, though.

Neither, from the looks of things, did Nessiah, who said hello quietly and went back to leaning on Gulcasa’s arm sleepily. All the new faces seemed to have worn him out; Gulcasa got the feeling that he might actually fall asleep standing up if they didn’t find a place to rest soon. Really, he’d be surprised if Nessiah managed to remember everyone he’d met by tomorrow.

“Oh? Who do we have here?”

Gulcasa felt his spine fuse at the sound of the voice, but refused to give into the goading and turn around. Instead, he looked at Medoute, who was grinning. “Tell me that was just a figment of my imagination.”

Her grin just spread; he suppressed a groan, and turned to face the intruder; Nessiah, still clinging to his arm, was looking up at him in confusion, probably not understanding why he was so tense.

“And just who invited _you?”_ he asked flatly, without preamble.

“So now I need an invitation to come and check up on how my former employees are faring? I’m hurt.”

He didn’t _look_ hurt. He looked smug, and on top of that, he looked too lazy to put on a suit coat or a tie; Lapis, acting as his bodyguard like she always did, was better-dressed in her own plain black suit. And even though Gulcasa was sure the idiot knew that he wasn’t welcome here, he just kept standing with his hands on his hips with his eyes half-closed and a smirk on his face. Gulcasa was seized with an overpowering urge to punch him, but held himself back in a truly heroic display of maturity.

…If only because starting a fight would get him laughed at by Medoute, and probably wouldn’t be impressing Nessiah at all.

“Well, you’ve had a look at them, so you can go now, right? I doubt you only just arrived, since the others would have caught you gatecrashing if you did.” And the grand majority of them would have kicked this guy out. At least Gulcasa hoped that they’d actually kick him out.

“The refreshments were nice, yeah. We got a bit caught up over there. That’s _your_ fault, though; if you don’t want people staying at your parties, then don’t throw good ones.”

That was definitely a compliment, but it had been delivered so _condescendingly_ that Gulcasa had to fight had to wrestle down the urge to just throw a punch already. Three years ago, it probably would have been accompanied by much mussing of his hair, but that would be harder to pull off now that there wasn’t even an inch difference in their heights.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he caught Lapis heaving a long-suffering sigh, and couldn’t help but sympathize. Dealing with an idiot like this on a daily basis would make anyone want to start tearing their hair out.

“Anyhow, it looks like you’re doing a good job, kiddo. Don’t slack off too much, now.”

“What, that’s it?”

“Yeah. I just wanted to see you make those faces like an affronted cat again before I left.”

Gulcasa felt his face flush with anger, and curled his free hand into a fist so hard that his nails started to bite into his palm. _Not gonna punch him. Not gonna rise to it. He’s just doing this to piss me off; I don’t have to satisfy him._

And then, grinning even more complacently, Soltier turned to Nessiah—probably to make a few more snide remarks to see if he could provoke Gulcasa into taking a swing after all—and for a moment, his expression changed to one of blank surprise. He gave Nessiah a brief but intense searching look, then turned on his heel and waved.

“See you around. Come on, Lapis, there’s still cheesecake left, we should be able to nick some on our way out.”

Lapis actually rolled her eyes and shook her head, then nodded to Gulcasa before chasing after the idiot’s back. Gulcasa let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. It was a very long and irritated sound.

“…I really hate that guy. I hate him more and more every time I see him.”

Next to him, Medoute was starting to laugh; he glowered at her.

“And you shut up.”

“It’s just nice knowing that some things never change.” She elbowed him in the side. “It’s been three years, and you still bicker like little boys on the playground every time you run into each other. How old are we turning this year, again?”

 _I’m going to count to ten. And then I’m going to loosen a few of her teeth._ “He’s twice my age, for god’s sake. He could at least _act_ like he’s thirty-nine every now and again, couldn’t he?”

“Who was that?”

Nessiah’s soft question drew both his attention and Medoute’s—he wasn’t smiling or even paying much attention to their exchange, but was holding onto Gulcasa’s arm and staring after Soltier’s retreating back with a slight crease at his brow.

 _That’s certainly interesting._ “That idiot’s name is Soltier, and he was my predecessor. He’s impossible to deal with, so mostly I try not to, but he keeps showing up at these things just to get on my nerves. Every now and then I get to thinking he’s not so bad, and then he comes back to remind me how pleasant he is in person. The asshole.”

“Really?” Nessiah was starting to smile. “I get the feeling that he’s just playing it up to annoy you because he likes you.”

“Gah. Seriously, what is this, grade school? Leon I can deal with, he’s just shy—but _this_ kind of, of, let’s stick lizards down the back of each other’s shirts as a show of friendship thing… you’re supposed to outgrow it at a certain point, dammit!”

Medoute elbowed his side again, snickering. “You’re one to talk. After all was said and done, and all the paperwork proof had been lined up, you managed to get named his successor _how,_ again?”

“Argh, shut up!” Gulcasa’s face was practically _burning_ by now; the shade of his skin was probably approaching his hair color swiftly, and there was no escape; all he could do was avoid looking at both Medoute and Nessiah. “We came to an understanding with our fists, all right?! It’s not something you’d get, so just stop judging me already!”

“I see what they say about similar personalities clashing.” Nessiah sounded as if he was on the verge of breaking out laughing.

 _Please just shoot me now._ “I can feel my will to continue living slowly draining away. Please don’t lump me in with guys like that.”

Nessiah tugged his sleeve, and he looked down unwillingly to find that he was being fixed with that same shining smile. Caught off-guard, all he could do was stare back—it was like being sucker-punched hard. “You’re certainly more mature than him, at any rate. The similarities… they’re things that I like about you.”

He could have taken offense or gotten possessive or fallen deeper into despair, but being told something like that as a counterpoint to that smile was enough to render him dumbstruck.

“Why did you ask about him, anyway?” Medoute wanted to know, looking at Nessiah curiously.

Nessiah’s eyes hazed a little, and he went back to staring straight ahead, his smile fading almost completely. “It’s just that… I believe I met him once, when I was much younger.”

And he wouldn’t say anything else on the matter; after there was no answer to her next question, Medoute gave up.

“I’ll be heading out, then. It was worth it coming here just to see you get all riled up, anyway.”

“You’d better beat it, or I’m not going to be able to hold back the urge to punch something.”

She laughed and patted his shoulder. “You ought to cool off soon, or you’re not going to make it through the last half hour before things close down.”

“Shut up.” Oh god, there still was half an hour left to endure. _Seriously, shoot me now._ “At least I can delegate and actually leave then.” It wasn’t a privilege he abused, but he sure would be making use of it tonight.

Medoute laughed at him again and walked off without saying goodbye.

“You know, sometimes I don’t know why I’m bothered to interact with any of these people,” he said to no one in particular.

They stood there for a few moments, and then Nessiah pulled at his sleeve again.

“Gulcasa…”

“Yeah?”

Nessiah wasn’t looking at him, and was fidgeting slightly as though he didn’t know what to say. “Um, I… I should probably… I want to…” His voice trailed off nervously.

Gulcasa sighed and took a wild stab. “If you go around the side, between the edge of the garden and the fencing, you should be able to figure out how close they are to the gates and run after them without anybody coming up to bother you. I’ll stay right here. Just make it quick—if he’s not off my property in five minutes, I’m going to kick him off personally.”

Nessiah’s expression relaxed, and he looked up at Gulcasa again with such relief in his eyes and wan smile that he seemed to be on the verge of tears. He murmured a wavery “thank you” and then bolted.

Sighing, Gulcasa went over to the nearest table and picked up one of the last glasses of red wine, then went back to his vantage point, watching Nessiah run down the thin lane made by flowerbeds and tall brick. After a few moments, he darted out into the open, catching Soltier and Lapis near the gates; at that distance, Gulcasa couldn’t tell either what they were saying or what their expressions were, but the way that the three of them stood seemed relaxed and natural enough.

He hadn’t asked. And he wasn’t going to, damn it, no matter how odd he thought it was. Nessiah, at least, still thought that it would be safer if Gulcasa didn’t pry into his true identity and his past; it had been hard enough for him to admit who it was in his life that had abused him, so Gulcasa didn’t want to push it.

Still. He’d been close enough to high society to know Soltier and Lapis, and to recognize Gulcasa’s full name. He had been part of a family with a great deal of power, even if he personally wasn’t close enough to the world of business and blue blood to stand out. Gulcasa had half the pieces in his hands already, and the dark urge to beat the abuser bloody was demanding that he try to fit them together.

It was something other to focus on than the feelings he’d stuffed into the box, but it didn’t make Gulcasa feel any better, and he stood with the wineglass in his hand, looking out over the remaining guests until Siskier came up to him.

She was wearing a cute little dress and a scarf that Gulcasa had never seen her in before (not that that meant anything—she bought those things like kids bought candy), with her lips and eyelids painted pale pink and a pair of chandelier dangles on her earlobes. She followed his gaze to Nessiah, then smiled.

“Rough night, huh?”

“A bit.” He stared at the wine, but didn’t drink it.

Siskier sat back against the mostly-empty table behind them, and he could feel her staring at him, but didn’t turn around.

“Holding back isn’t like you,” she said at last, and he felt his face flush. “And I know, there are a billion excuses as to why holding back is a great idea. I just want to know what your real one is.”

He sighed. Typical Siskier—she knew him too well. There was no point playing dumb, and besides, she was the only one he could really go to for advice other than Emilia. And Emilia was biased.

“I don’t want to scare him off. Right now, the only safe place he has left is with us. I don’t want to wreck that. So I’m trying to give it some time. Problem with giving it time is that the prospect of saying something is starting to make me really nervous. How do you manage it?” And he turned to face her helplessly.

Siskier swung her feet and smiled. “Cross your fingers, screw up all the courage you’ve got, and blurt it out before you can talk yourself back out of it. For what it’s worth, I think your chances are pretty good, considering that you weren’t the only one staring and blushing and trying not to stare tonight. But it gets easier with practice.”

“That’s really great.” Of course, she knew that he didn’t _have_ any practice of that sort. The two relationships he’d been in had just sort of started without any prompting from him—first he’d been the confessee, and second, things kind of happened all on their own.

She stood up, smiling—probably at the sourness in his voice—and patted him on the back. “We all have to start somewhere. C’mon, trust a girl’s instinct for romance—you’re not going to get turned down.”

The problem with that, though, would be _why._ He didn’t know if Nessiah would be emotionally steady enough to refuse, and that might be worse than getting turned down outright.

“How am I supposed to know?” he asked at last, looking at Siskier uncertainly.

She looked at him warmly. “You’ll know.”

After that, she gave him a tight one-armed hug, careful not to disturb his wineglass, and drew his attention to the benches over by the gardens that were empty of people. And then she clapped his shoulder and was off.

Nessiah was starting to walk back; Soltier and Lapis were nowhere in sight. Gulcasa glared down at his wineglass, then drank its contents in one slug and tossed the glass carelessly back on the table.

There was a guilty look on Nessiah’s face when he arrived back at Gulcasa’s side, which he waved aside. “I’m not going to ask if it’s not something you want to talk about. You’ll tell me when you’re ready, anyhow.”

…Topic. He needed to change the topic before this got too depressing. Crap. “Anyway, I’m getting tired of all these people, so let’s find someplace to hide for the rest of all this. That sound okay?”

Nessiah’s smile was still somewhat anxious, but that was better than the look he’d had on his face before, so Gulcasa offered his arm, and they began to make their way into the shadows.

It had been his right arm. Well, he couldn’t be a hundred percent mindful of Nessiah’s eye a hundred percent of the time, but that still made it his fault, since Nessiah was turned toward him and couldn’t see the path ahead. Gulcasa was concentrating solely on Nessiah and not paying much attention to what was ahead of them.

The point was that on the way to a suitable bench, they bumped into a girl.

Literally bumped—her shoulder collided with Gulcasa’s chest and both of them stumbled back; she gripped her skirts and looked down, steadying herself, while Gulcasa supported most of Nessiah’s weight as his legs tangled. Busy with Nessiah as he was, the first impression he got of her was a lot of blond hair, tied back with a black ribbon; as he straightened up and began to apologize, he saw that she was wearing a dress with skirts down to her knees, mostly white with highlights of gold and pale green, along with black stockings, black opera gloves, and a black corset.

As she looked up with frightened and very blue doe’s eyes, Gulcasa realized dumbly that he knew this girl.

He couldn’t remember her name. Still, they’d met the same day that he and Nessiah had—she’d been at the last big ball, and she’d saved him from being bored out of his mind by flirting with him over the punch. Her smile had been glowing and sweet, and she had a similar kind of vive to Siskier’s, despite her more well-bred demeanor and softspokenness.

But she wasn’t smiling tonight. She looked scared and dithering, like a lost little girl who didn’t know what to do anymore. Gulcasa was starting to wonder if she’d gotten separated from her escort or family when the sight of a long, purpling mark down the side of her throat registered like a blow.

Beside him, Nessiah wore a stricken expression. His already-pale skin had gone white, and his free hand was clutching at his chest, knuckles standing out sharply. He was shaking, and his nails had begun to press painfully against Gulcasa’s arm.

“Yggdra—”


End file.
